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Book_ ,_Sl3 


Copyright N°_ ~P&. 

to?i& 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. • 






















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t 









THE DEVIL WOLF 






















J 

THE DEVIL WOLF 

BY 

NORMA S. SCHINKE 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

z 




Copyright, 1924 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(incorporated) 


-J 


Printed in the United States of America 


Press of Geo. H. Ellis Co. (Inc.). Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 

Bound by the Boston Bookbinding Company 
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 


FED -0 (224 . 

©C1A777028 


U 




TO MY MOTHER 













THE DEVIL WOLF 


CHAPTER ONE 

The afternoon sun blazed down with persistent fury on 
the little white-washed station of Dover, which stood a 
solitary blot on an otherwise guiltless landscape. 

The scene was one of typified silence and stagnation. 
In front of the station browsed a lean, weary-looking 
horse, harnessed to a rude sort of wagon, and in the 
shade cast by the little wooden station lay the driver 
asleep, his head resting in a peculiarly unpleasant twist 
upon his arm. His snores were the only sounds that dis¬ 
turbed the silence. 

Inside the station, the same inactivity reigned. With 
his feet resting comfortably on the pine table, combi¬ 
nation station-master-ticket-agent-switchman-and-teleg- 
rapher Williams drowsed over a battered copy of a lurid- 
backed novel, although he had long ago become oblivious 
to the exigencies of the persecuted heroine. His head 
drooped forward on his chest and he, like the driver out¬ 
side, was sleeping the sleep of the righteous on a warm 
afternoon. 

Several large, blue-bottle flies buzzed unheeded against 
the dusty window panes, and the watch lying on the table 


2 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


in front of him ticked away the minutes, but Williams 
slept on until a long whistle in the distance brought him 
stumbling to his feet. He glanced at the watch and was 
agreeably surprised to find that, contrary to all precedent, 
Number Three was on time. He hurried to the door to 
call a greeting to the trainmen and receive the express 
packages; also to attend to the wants of any passengers 
who might descend, although passengers were rare things 
to Williams, as usually they preferred riding the seven¬ 
teen miles further down the line to Versailles, with its 
larger accommodations. Only passengers for Willow- 
lake descended at Dover, and then, not unless they were 
confident that friends or relatives would be there to meet 
them. 

“On time today, Jim,” he called facetiously to the 
engineer. “How come? Somebody grease the track?” 

“No,” retorted the engineer with heavy sarcasm, “we 
merely managed to side-track all the fool station-masters 
who keep us waiting while they try to kid us. And in¬ 
stead of standing there trying to think of something 
clever to say, you had better be attending to your duties.” 
He sent a meaning glance over Williams’ shoulder as the 
train pulled out, and that gentleman turned to see the 
cause of it. 

A young lady had just emerged from the one passenger 
coach that Number Three boasted and on seeing Wil¬ 
liams, she promptly set down the suit-case which she had 
picked up. 

“Are you the station-master?” she asked. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


3 


“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Has my brother-in-law arrived yet?” 

“No, ma’am. Were you expecting him?’’ 

“He was to meet me here to drive me over to Willow- 
lake. You probably know him—Arthur Wilbur, the 
prosecuting attorney.” 

“Yes, ma’am, I know him. No, ma’am, he hasn’t 
got here yet. It has been raining, though, and the 
roads are pretty bad. This is the first time the sun has 
been out in three days and I don’t think it will last very 
long, either. The clouds are gathering for another 
storm, I guess. But he’ll probably be here in a few 
minutes.” 

The frown, which had appeared on the young lady’s 
forehead at first learning of her brother’s failure to arrive, 
increased in depth and darkness. She looked down the 
road and then at Williams. “I suppose there is nothing 
to do but wait.” 

She brushed past him and went into the little station 
where she seated herself on the white-enamelled kitchen 
chair, carefully dusting it, however, with her handker¬ 
chief before doing so. Williams entered after her, 
bringing the abandoned suit-case and travelling bag, and 
set them down beside her chair. Then with an ostenta¬ 
tious air, he seated himself at the table and endeavored 
to give the impression of being simply overwhelmed 
with work. He assiduously made out unnecessary 
reports and rattled the keys of the telegraph instrument. 
It all looked very systematic and business-like, although 


4 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


the young lady might not have been quite so impressed, 
had she known that instead of having to do with the 
weighty affairs of the railroad, he was merely inform¬ 
ing a fellow-operator forty miles down the line that “a 
cross between Lillian Russell and the Venus de Milo, 
with red hair and a fourteen degrees below zero manner, 
has just dropped into Dover station from Number Three. 
Sister-in-law of the P. A. at Willowlake. Anything of 
importance down at your end?” But there was no hint 
of facetiousness on Williams’ solemn countenance and 
the young lady appeared duly impressed with the arduous 
duties connected with the arrival of Number Three. 

Having sent his message and received, grave-eyed and 
unsmiling, the “Wish you luck” of his fellow-operator, 
Williams stole a glance at his visitor. She was twenty- 
five or twenty-six years of age, a bit above medium 
height, slender and exceedingly well dressed in a dark 
green linen suit. Under the white sailor hat, with the 
white veil thrown carelessly back, little tendrils of red 
gold hair escaped in unruly fashion and blew about her 
face. It was a lovely face, Williams thought, though 
it was beyond his powers of observation to say in just 
what the loveliness lay; whether it was in the clear brown 
eyes, with their hint of hidden dreams, or the finely 
curved sensitive mouth. Her eyes, Williams thought 
after his stolen glimpse, were the center of it all; it was 
they that imparted the look of quiet radiance to the face. 
But over and above the young lady’s mere physical 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


5 


beauty was something else that puzzled Williams, some¬ 
thing that he had never met before. There was a superb 
impersonality about her, that invested her as something 
fine and high and set her apart and above the rest of the 
world. 

Had Williams known that the young lady was Miss 
Eugenia Appleton, occupant of the chair of philosophy at 
Dearborn College, he might have been able to account 
for that something better than he did. 

The young lady, on her part, was not quite so curious, 
for she did not deign Williams even a second glance. 
She did, however, examine the little station idly, as one 
who had nothing better to do, and her glance took in the 
withered orange peel under the pine table, the lurid- 
backed novel, old newspapers in the wire waste basket, 
and the badly neglected calendars, some of them still 
basking in all the splendor of New Year’s Day. Finally, 
her gaze rested on a placard pasted on the wall. It bore 
a somewhat sinister import and the young lady read it 
through twice. Then she turned to Williams. 

“Is he a real bandit?” she asked in an interested tone. 

He followed her gaze to the placard on the wall. “You 
mean the Devil Wolf, ma’am? Yes, ma’am, he aims to 
be, and if you had been out here at the time the Creek- 
town train robbery occurred, some months ago, you 
would have said he was succeeding in his aims with what 
the French call perfect eclat.” 

Either because she was interested or because the heat 


6 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


was less intense when you talked than when you sat still 
and watched through the open door the sizzling road, 
Miss Appleton pursued the subject. 

“Who is he? Why haven’t they put a name on the 
placard ?” 

“I should think you would know all about the Devil 
Wolf, seeing the prosecuting attorney is your brother- 
in-law. He’s the one who is worried the most over the 
Devil Wolf. Of course, it’s really the sheriff’s funeral, 
but somehow or other your brother-in-law got saddled 
with it. He’s the one who put up those placards. You 
see . . .” Williams swung around in the swivel chair 
so that he could face his visitor. There was an animated 
tone in his voice as of one who approaches a favorite 
subject. “There never was a bandit around these parts 
just like the Devil Wolf. There was Buck Anderson, 
of course, who got away with three bank robberies and 
a couple of hold-ups before they got him, but you see 
what killed Buck was that everybody knew who he was. 
Well,” his voice sank to a low whisper as though the 
Devil Wolf might be within hearing, “no one knows who 
the Devil Wolf is. No one knows what his name is nor 
what he looks like, nor where he stays, nor anything 
about him. Why, there isn’t anyone in all Willowlake 
or any of the surrounding towns but who might be the 
Devil Wolf. He might be me or he might be your 
brother-in-law or the Methodist minister, or the superin¬ 
tendent of the orphan asylum. There’s no telling.” 

Miss Appleton was visibly impressed and Williams 


THE DEVIL WOLF 7 

felt the compliment. “Has no one ever seen him?” she 
asked. 

“Well, ma’am,” answered Williams judiciously, “if to 
see a tall figure in a long black cloak and wearing a heavy 
black mask, is to see the Devil Wolf, why, then, of course, 
he has been seen. By the crew on the Creektown ex¬ 
press, for instance. That’s all there is to see. With 
Buck Anderson, it was just a question of catching him. 
We had known him as a boy, you might say, knew what 
he looked like, and that he had a haunt somewhere along 
the river, but with the Devil Wolf, it’s different. When 
he gets to The Hills,—you can just see the tops of them 
through the door there, ma’am,—why, he just slips into 
them and vanishes.” 

“And has no one ever been suspected?” asked Miss 
Appleton. 

Williams laughed shortly. “Why, it’s getting so you 
can’t do anything without being suspected of being the 
Devil Wolf. There was Guthrie Johnson. About a 
month after the American Security Bank was robbed, 
Guthrie bought a motor car and then everyone said that 
he must be the Devil Wolf because how could he buy a 
$2,000 car on $25.00 a week? They took to watching 
him, and everybody was excited in Willowlake, but just 
when the police thought they had it all figured out, the 
paymaster of the Dancing Bell copper mine was held up, 
and that same night Guthrie was helping out at a water¬ 
melon social at the Methodist church so, of course, it 
could not be his work. Afterwards, they found that he 


8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


had received a little legacy when his grandmother died. 
Oh, there have been plenty of suspects but just when 
they think they have it all proved, something will happen 
right when the suspected fellow is in the midst of a lot 
of people, and of course, you can’t suspect anyone after 
that. It’s a funny thing and I’m not denying that I have 
enough curiosity to want to know who the Devil Wolf is 
and how he works. Yes, ma’am, it certainly is a 
mystery.” 

“So it seems.” Miss Appleton had apparently lost all 
interest in the subject of the Devil Wolf for she rose, 
went to the door, and looked up and down the road. 

“I can’t understand why my brother-in-law doesn’t 
come.” She took a peep at her tiny wrist watch. “It 
is an hour past train time.” 

“Only forty minutes, ma’am,” corrected Williams, 
looking at the watch on the table. “Those wrist watches 
never do keep good time.” 

Miss Appleton, with an angry movement entirely out 
of place in an occupant of a chair of philosophy, adjusted 
the hands of her watch and took another look down the 
white dusty road. 

“Did you tell them you were coming, ma’am?” 

Miss Appleton’s look was withering. “I would be 
the more apt not to neglect that little formality inasmuch 
as neither my sister nor her husband are mind-readers,” 
she said icily. 

Williams squirmed uncomfortably and studied the 
dust on the floor. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


9 


“They should have received my letter yesterday/’ con¬ 
tinued Miss Appleton in a slightly milder tone. “Or, 
this morning, at the latest.” 

“This morning?” Williams looked up quickly. “Then 
I am sorry, ma’am,” he said deeply apologetic, “but there 
isn’t a chance of your people having received it. The 
postmaster didn’t deliver any mail this morning; he had 
other and more important business to attend to.” 

“What,” snapped Miss Appleton, “could be more im¬ 
portant than the delivery of the United States mail?” 

“Twins,” answered Williams laconically. Then, as 
though to relieve the anxiety natural under the circum¬ 
stances, “Mother and twins are doing well.” 

“Does that mean,” asked Miss Appleton darkly, “that 
my sister does not know I am coming today?” 

“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so,” said Williams meekly. 
His face betrayed his real concern for her plight. All at 
once his eyes brightened. “Why not telegraph your 
sister and wait here?” 

“Is the telegraph service at Willowlake any better than 
the postal service ?” asked Miss Appleton suspiciously. 

“It isn’t so very bad, ma’am,” returned Williams, with 
just the trace of a grin. “Luke Manning is kind of slow, 
but—” 

“How long will it take my sister or her husband to 
drive over from Willowlake with the roads as bad as they 
are ?” 

“About two hours—maybe longer.” 

“I am not going to wait,” said Miss Appleton firmly. 


10 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Isn’t there any other possible way to get over to Willow- 
lake? Who hauls baggage here? ,, 

“Well, there isn’t much to haul, ma’am. Most people, 
you see, ride down to Versailles and change cars there 
for Willowlake. No one gets off here unless they know 
someone will meet them. Of course, it’s shorter over 
to Willowlake this way, than when you change cars at 
Versailles. But when there is any hauling to do, Pete 
usually does it.” 

“And where is Pete?” 

Williams pointed an eloquent finger toward the snoring 
bundle of rags in the shade. “There he is, ma’am, but 
he won’t be able to drive for you.” 

“Ill?” 

“Drunk.” 

“I thought this country was dry,” snapped Miss Ap¬ 
pleton. 

Williams shook his head. “I reckon it is, according 
to the statutes. God only knows where Pete gets it.” 

Without deigning to answer, Miss Appleton took her 
suit-case and started for the door. Williams followed 
her wonderingly. When they reached the little platform 
in front of the station, Miss Appleton let the suit-case 
stand and turned to Williams. “Put it in the cart,” she 
commanded. 

“Are you going to drive Old Bess ?” he asked. 

“I don’t know what the horse’s name is, but I am going 
to drive it,” answered Miss Appleton determinedly. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


ii 


“I wouldn’t advise you to, ma’am.” 

“Why not?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “The 
horse looks perfectly gentle—in fact, it looks subdued.” 

“Oh, Old Bess is all right, but,” he shifted uneasily 
before Miss Appleton’s direct gaze. “Ladies don’t drive 
around Willowlake alone any more, not since the Devil 
Wolf—” 

“Does he stalk abroad even in the daytime seeking 
whom he might devour?” she inquired ironically. 

“He held up the cashier of the American Security bank 
at four o’clock in the afternoon,” answered Williams 
imperturbably. “What’s more, you are the prosecuting 
attorney’s sister-in-law, and it’s the prosecuting attorney 
who has gone out after him. The Devil Wolf isn’t the 
kind to overlook a thing like that.” 

“But he doesn’t know who I am; he doesn’t know I 
am coming,” protested Miss Appleton. “If no one has 
received my letter, how can anyone know I am coming?” 

Williams shrugged his shoulders. “There isn’t much 
going on in Willowlake the Devil Wolf doesn’t know 
about.” 

Miss Appleton hesitated a few moments as though con¬ 
sidering the question. “I am not afraid of your bandit,” 
she said finally. “Put the suit-case in.” 

“And that isn’t all, ma’am,” continued Williams. 
“There’s a storm coming up and they come up suddenly 
out here. Notice how sticky warm it is and those clouds 
over there—” 


12 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“I am not afraid of a thunderstorm.” 

Williams gave it up. “You certainly are lucky to be 
that courageous, ma’am.” 

Miss Appleton looked at him quickly. There had been 
veiled irony in his tone, but the eyes that met hers were 
guilelessness itself. She flushed slightly and sprang into 
the rickety conveyance, jerking up the reins in a way that 
made old Bess open her sleepy eyes. 

“How far is it from here to Willowlake?” 

“About thirteen miles—as the crow flies.” 

“How far is it the way I have to go ?” 

“About eighteen.” 

There was genuine concern in Miss Appleton’s eyes. 
“There ought to be a shorter cut,” she said severely, 
looking at him as though implying that he was seeking 
to withhold information from her. 

“There is,” he answered, “but you don’t want to take 
it.” 

“Why not?” 

“It leads through The Hills—and the Devil Wolf isn’t 
caught yet.” 

Miss Appleton turned on him with unphilosophical 
fury. “I was reared,” she said icily, “to regard the 
United States as the home of the brave. I trust I will 
never again meet a human being so fearful of another 
as you are of this bandit.” 

“That’s all right, ma’am,” said Williams in a grieved 
tone, “but you weren’t here when the Creektown express 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


i3 

was robbed. There was a guard on the train, and the 
Devil Wolf got away with $17,000.” 

Miss Appleton settled the reins over Old Bess’s back. 
“If you have finished relating to me the details of a 
crime in which I can have absolutely no interest,” she 
said coldly, “will you kindly direct me to the road that 
leads through The Hills? I am not afraid of your 
bandit.” 

“You can follow this road until it forks,” directed 
Williams sullenly. “If you want to go through The 
Hills, take the right fork, but if you don’t—and no one 
will blame you if you don’t—take the left fork. You 
can put the wagon up at Willowlake and I’ll have Pete 
go over after it. I sure hope you get there all right, 
ma’am,” his tone was charity itself. “Both roads lead 
right into Willowlake, though the one through The Hills 
is shorter, of course. When you get there, anyone will 
show you where your brother-in-law lives. If you meet 
the Devil Wolf—” 

The last few words were spoken into empty space for 
Miss Appleton had already got Old Bess into motion. 

Williams looked after her appreciatively. “They 
don’t make them any prettier nor any spunkier,” he 
mused, “but, ye gods, she can sure make a man squirm 
with that look of hers. Not afraid of the bandit, huh? 
Guess she would be if she met him once.” He kicked 
Pete but was unable to waken him and reentered the 
little station. Soon the keys of the telegraph instrument 


14 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


were clicking madly, and the fellow-operator forty miles 
down the line grinned as he ticked the message off: 

“The lady wouldn’t wait for her brother-in-law and 
has gone off by her high lonesome into The Hills on her 
way to Willowlake. I tried to tell her about the Devil 
Wolf, but she didn’t scare much. I’ll say this much: if 
she meets him and gives him only one of the looks she 
has been handing me for the last half hour, there’ll be 
a shrivelled up Devil Wolf lying around The Hills some¬ 
where tomorrow.” 


CHAPTER TWO 


The Hills clustered thickly together, cowering like a 
flock of frightened sheep. They did not burst candidly 
into view, but stole stealthily upon the scene; not timidly 
or shyly, but crouching low to earth like beaten curs. Si* 
lent and forbidding, there was something a bit uncanny 
in the way they hugged each other, seeming to close in 
upon the spectator with the ugly intentions of wolves at 
bay; and wolves they looked, too—hungry and snarling, 
with bared fangs, lean-sided, panting with lust for blood. 

They had none of the beauty of hills. Here were no 
grass-covered slopes where children lie and dream their 
youth away; here were no bubbling rills tripping merrily 
over tiny smooth-washed pebbles and whispering soft 
nothings to slender rushes; here were no tall straight 
trees that seemed to brush open the gates of Heaven. 
Lean, barren, rock-ribbed and scraggy of top were The 
Hills—fairy-tale hills, hills that spoke of hollow caves 
and elves and gnomes working industriously at their hid¬ 
den forges. Low and stubby in form, they were mere 
ugly mounds. A learned, calculating geologist would 
have spoken didactically of mineralic conditions that for¬ 
bade any growth; a dreamer would have said that the tiny 
inhabitants had made them purposely repellant so that no 
inquisitive person would sit there and, musing, hear the 
15 


i6 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


sound of their tiny blazing forges where they made yel¬ 
low gold and forged sparkling diamonds. Their slopes 
were barren of all green beauty and the brooks that 
moaned in and out of the huge rocks were as wistfully 
meager as the children of the poor in large cities. As for 
the trees, they but poorly covered the naked sides, and 
were only half-hearted growths, stunted, one might have 
thought, by an evil hand. They, like the heights on 
which they grew, belonged to a necromantic world, seem¬ 
ing to conceal in their crooked, ugly trunks, the souls of 
disobedient mortals who had become too saucy with the 
gods. 

It was no wonder, thought Miss Appleton, as Old Bess 
jogged lazily along the narrow rocky road, that the people 
of Willowlake avoided The Hills. They were not com¬ 
panionable hills with outstretched arms that welcomed, 
but were like dragons, guarding their secrets against all 
comers. 

The vexation she had felt at the postmaster’s negli¬ 
gence had melted away beneath the warmth of the seren¬ 
ity that never deserted her for any length of time. One 
teaches philosophy to hopeful young women for the space 
of four years and one becomes imbued with a sense of it. 
It had become a part of Eugenia Appleton’s character, 
and was the secret of the thing that had puzzled Williams. 

Now she let the reins slip over Old Bess’s back, while 
she listened to the message from the stunted Hills. She 
who had compared one philosophy with another, knew 
that there was no postulate ever established which held 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


17 

out the charm that these ugly heights offered with their 
nude slopes, twisted trees, and mysterious message. 

It was just the place for the Devil Wolf. He was 
evidently a philosopher, this outlaw with a price on his 
head, for who, besides a philosopher, would see the re¬ 
lationship between The Hills which frankly rebelled 
against all balance of law and order in the realm of nature 
and a man who disputed as he did the balance of society? 
He was a rough, uncouth man, of course, but behind the 
low criminal intellect was a glimmering of the great 
truth,—the first tiny sprout of the seed of Relativity. 
The world would come to it finally. 

The sun which had been shining brightly a moment 
before, with all the fervor of afternoon heat, withdrew 
itself behind a cloud and Eugenia, glancing apprehen¬ 
sively at the heavens, remembered the station agent’s 
warning of the approach of a thunderstorm, and saw 
that he had been right. A heavy bank of dark gray 
clouds had arisen in the west and catching up with the 
sun had obscured it. The twisted trees began to shake 
as with an ague and their sparsely leaved branches to 
whisper uneasily to one another of the coming storm. 

She gathered up the reins that she had let fall and tried 
to urge Old Bess to a more active pace, but age and gen¬ 
eral lassitude were both against any inclination the old 
mare might have had to hasten her steps and she still 
plodded wearily along between the low hills. 

The clouds increased in numbers; heavy, dark, rain¬ 
laden, they hung overhead like a bad omen of what was 


i8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


surely to follow and Eugenia began to look around for 
some possible shelter. But where to find shelter, she 
thought, among these barren empty hills? The trees, 
with their niggard foliage, offered no more protection 
against the storm than the open road. 

She had never seen a storm come with the rapidity of 
this one. Five minutes before the sun had been shining 
brightly, the air had been warm and dry, and save for 
some clouds along the horizon, nothing seemed further 
off than a storm. Now the sun was lost behind thick 
dark clouds and the winds hinted of the rain to come. 
She did not know how far she had come, nor how many 
more miles lay between her and her sister’s house, but she 
was certain she would be drenched before she reached 
it. 

The first heavy drops were beginning to fall when 
she espied, halfway up one of the low hills, the mass of 
overhanging rocks that formed a rude cave and the 
cluster of stunted trees beside it. Here was only 
negative shelter unless the cave-like place under the rocks 
was larger than it looked, but the cave would prove better 
than the open road, and it would be only a matter of a 
few minutes. From the Appearance of the skies, there 
would be only one of those swift downpours which are 
quickly over with. 

Knowing that it would be next to impossible to get 
Old Bess to climb even the low hill, Eugenia climbed out 
of the wagon, tied the old mare loosely to an old twisted 
tree at the foot of the hill, and then taking her suit-case 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


i9 


and travelling bag, she proceeded up the slope. The 
rocks afforded her foothold and in a few moments, she 
stood under the overhanging roof of rocks, and found 
to her surprise that it was really a wonderful shelter. 
There was even a seat, a long rock some two feet 
long. But one must creep even to the very wall before 
one escaped the wind-driven rain. 

She had told Williams rightly that she was not afraid 
of a thunderstorm and it was with curiosity, not fear, 
that she watched it. Out here amid The Hills, an 
approaching thunderstorm was a far different thing to 
the kind she used to watch from her tower room at Dear¬ 
born College. There the straight, nicely pruned poplar 
trees had bent themselves under the blasts of wind and 
rain, but even then had seemed to be precise about it, 
as everything about Dearborn College was precise. The 
wind that had howled around the tower room had been a 
precise wind and the rain that dashed itself against the 
window panes had seemed a precise rain. But oiut here 
The Hills that rebelled against nature seemed to imbue 
everything with their revolutionary sentiments; and the 
wind and the rain and the thunder and the lightning all 
seemed to have a dash of rebellion in them. There was 
a spark of malice in the lightning and a bit of sullen 
anger in the thunder; the rain was an impetuous demo- 
gogue and the wind had an aggravating tendency to nag. 

Eugenia crouched against the rocks and gave herself 
up to the beauty of the fairy-tale storm. She felt a 
momentary pity for Old Bess but noticing the old mare’s 


20 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


resigned attitude, decided that she was used to Pete’s 
drunken vagaries and accustomed to all weather. At 
any rate, she stood under the tree at the foot of the hill 
and browsed the sparse blades of wet grass. 

To Eugenia’s surprise, the storm, instead of spending 
itself in a half hour or so, increased in ferocity; the 
lightning became more vivid, and the thunder more ter¬ 
rific. Boulders, loosened sometimes by the rain that 
rushed in torrents down the rocky slopes, and sometimes 
by the crashes of the thunder that shook The Hills, went 
hurtling down the hillside and fell in the road like dead 
giants. Rotten branches of half-dead trees were twisted 
off by the raging wind and flung sometimes from one low 
hill to the other. 

From her more or less dry nook, Eugenia watched it 
all, half wishing she had remained in the little station 
at Dover and telegraphed her sister, and then glad she 
had not done so, for Jane, she remembered, hated 
thunderstorms. 

She glanced at her wrist watch and felt reassured. It 
was only four-thirty and even though the storm kept up 
for another hour, she would still have time to reach 
Willowlake before dark, for she had already gone more 
than halfway, she felt sure. 

In the meantime, Old Bess, not so well sheltered as 
Eugenia, was growing restless under the unceasing flashes 
and rumblings. At one time, the old mare even reared 
on her hind feet and Eugenia wondered a bit doubtfully 
whether she had bound her securely enough. She had 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


21 


only twisted the reins around the tree in a loose knot, for 
she had never dreamed the storm would attain its pres¬ 
ent proportions. 

Suddenly there came a crash of thunder that seemed 
in its ferocity to uproot The Hills. Eugenia herself 
started up with a slight cry and Old Bess, paralyzed by 
the deafening shriek, stood still for a moment, then 
reared with all the impetuosity of her youthful days, 
shook herself free of the reins and, led away by terror, 
abandoned herself to a mad flight along the rocky road. 
For a few feet, she dragged the old wagon behind her, 
then it caught against a young sapling and lay there on 
its side, while Old Bess fled down the narrow road 
between The Hills. 

Eugenia started forward as though to try to catch the 
fleeing animal, but the downpour of rain stopped her 
and she crept back under the sheltering rocks again. 
Alone in The Hills—amid a fierce tempest—and night 
only a few hours away. And they would not come 
searching for her, either. Williams imagined her safely 
on her way to Willowlake, and Jane and Arthur could 
not know of her arrival. If the rain would cease, she 
would start walking, of course; still—there was the Devil 
Wolf. 

She had not thought of the redoubtable outlaw for 
some time; now she suddenly remembered all Williams 
had told her. She forgot her own speculations as to his 
philosophy and remembered only the fact that he had 
robbed the Creektown express some months before and 


22 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


that everyone in Willowlake feared him. She had saicj 
bravely enough that she was not afraid of a bandit, but 
that had been under the warm sunshine and on the road 
to Willowlake. 

The storm showed no signs of abating. Every second 
the heavens were torn asunder by the jagged lightning 
and The Hills seemed likely to be washed away by the 
torrents of rain or uprooted by the shocks of the 
thunder. 

Suddenly, above the sound of the downpour, above 
the shrieks of the thunder and the howling of the wind, 
came a new sound, a sound than which no other could 
have been more welcome to Eugenia. It was the 
ploppity, ploppity, ploppity of a galloping horse and 
Eugenia sprang out from her sheltered nook to call to 
Old Bess to stop, for she thought it was Old Bess re¬ 
turning, urged perhaps by some latent sense of chivalry. 
But one glance was sufficient to show her it was not Old 
Bess, and she shrank back with white cheeks against the 
rocks. It was the Devil Wolf; instinctively, she knew 
it must be the Devil Wolf. 

He bestrode a black horse that chewed at the bit and 
flung his fine head against the storm. A thoroughbred, 
fiery and unrestrained, he seemed a fitting mount for the 
figure on his back. Even through the mist of the driving 
rain, Eugenia could make out the booted legs and the 
black cloak flapping in the wind, the slouch hat and the 
heavy black mask whose fringe fell over the mouth and 
chin. Devilish and sinister he looked as he came gallop- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


23 


ing toward her on his fiery steed. He kept looking to the 
right and to the left and Eugenia guessed that he like her¬ 
self was hunting shelter from the driving rain. Her 
heart stood still as she saw him look intently at the clump 
of trees and the friendly overhanging rocks which 
afforded her protection. It was the only shelter in sight 
and Eugenia was not surprised to see him turn his horse 
out of the road and spur him to climb the low boulder- 
studded hill. 

Eugenia crept back against the rocks, numb with a fear 
she had never felt before in her sheltered assured life. 
She was sure he had not seen her, but what would he do 
when he did? He looked capable of almost anything, 
and according to Williams, all Willowlake feared him as 
a ruthless, heartless criminal. She wanted to scream, 
run, do anything but stand there and wait, but in the 
face of that sinister mask, she felt her limbs lose all 
power of motion. 

When he reached the protecting clump of trees, he 
leaped off, tied the horse firmly to the trunk of the 
stoutest tree and sprang under the protecting ledge, 
almost colliding with Eugenia, white-faced and trem¬ 
bling. For a moment, they both stood motionless, she 
dumb with fear and he with surprise. He was the first 
to recover, but what he said was not just the thing 
Eugenia expected him to say. 

He said, “By the straight limbs of Apollo!” and even 
in the midst of her fear, Eugenia felt surprise that an 
outlaw, a desperado, a doer of terrible deeds should 


24 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


swear by the old gods of Greece; also his voice, she dis¬ 
covered, was not rough and coarse as one would reason¬ 
ably expect of a devil wolf, but contained a pleasing 
softness that struck the ear far from unpleasantly. 

“I am afraid I hurt you,” he half-stammered. He 
seemed fearfully embarrassed. “I beg your pardon.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Eugenia assured him with more 
heartiness than the occasion really demanded. 

She raised anxious eyes to his, seeking to read there 
his intentions, but as she looked into the awful blankness 
of the black mask, whose silken fringe fell over his 
mouth and chin, she saw that which caused her fear to 
ebb from her slowly and leave her once again calm and 
assured. 

For through the narrow slits of the black mask, she 
could see the black eyes of the Devil Wolf and they were 
not devilish nor wolfish. Eyes, even when seen through 
narrow slits, can tell a great deal and the Devil Wolf’s 
eyes were telling of astonishment which was slowly 
vanishing and of admiration which was slowly increas¬ 
ing, but were telling of no sinister intentions such as 
might be born in the twisted brain of a devil wolf. 
Eugenia could see all that plainly and being a wise 
young woman decided quickly that the only really 
devilish or sinister thing about the Devil Wolf was his 
name. 

He was of average height, slender, but well propor¬ 
tioned and supple. Under the flapping black cloak were 
a blue shirt and rough corduroy trousers lost in heavy 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


25 


boots that were covered with the mud of a hard ride. 
Eugenia could not even guess at his age, though the 
figure of the Devil Wolf had youth’s slenderness and his 
bearing had youth’s courage and daring. Assuredly, 
there was nothing about him to justify such a ferocious 
sketch as Williams had made of him,—a human being 
with a wolf’s head and a devil’s heart, with fire and brim¬ 
stone pouring from his nostrils and poison dripping from 
his fangs. 

Her fear of him had vanished as a woman’s fear 
always does when she finds the man filled with stammer¬ 
ing admiration, but still there was no denying that here 
before her was the terrible individual who had held up 
the Creektown train some months before, escaping with 
$17,000, and she wondered what a devil wolf with such 
terrible fame was doing with eyes like that. 

The Devil Wolf, on his part, was also doing a bit of 
wondering. He was wondering how such a pretty girl, 
with hair like a red gold aureole, and eyes like two 
frightened brown stars, came to be in the lonesome Hills 
alone during a terrible thunderstorm. 

“This is about the only dry place in The Hills,” he 
explained, trying to make the conversation appear just as 
casual as though he were not wearing a black mask and 
had not a reputation for doing fearsome things. 

“It must be,” assented Eugenia easily, “since we both 
chose it.” She had seated herself again on the rough 
boulder out of reach of the rain. There was room 
enough for two on the rock if each sat on one end of it, 


26 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


but Eugenia calmly seated herself in the exact middle, 
leaving the Devil Wolf standing, but poorly sheltered 
from the torrents of rain that drove in on the one un¬ 
protected side. He looked at the eight inches of per¬ 
fectly good rock on either side and then shrank back 
against the boulder as a gust of wind drove the rain upon 
him. Eugenia hesitated a moment, looked once more 
into the narrow slits of the black mask, through which 
the black eyes were regarding her, she thought, a trifle 
wistfully, and then moved over toward one end of tne 
rock. 

“You will not get so wet if you sit here,” she suggested 
coldly. 

The Devil Wolf, a trifle dashed by the coldness of the 
tone, hesitated at accepting the offer, but another torrent 
of rain dashing in upon him, he quickly crept under the 
sheltering canopy of rocks and took his seat beside 
Eugenia, drawing his wet cloak closely around him so 
that it would not touch the more or less dry garments of 
the haughty young lady beside him. 

“How do you come to be caught out here in this 
storm ?” he asked, breaking the chilled silence. 

“I was driving over from the Dover station. I had 
expected my sister or her husband to meet me there, 
but it seems the postmaster had other and more important 
business to attend to than the distribution of the United 
States mail, so she had not received my letter telling her 
I would arrive today. Pete, the driver, was drunk, so 
I decided to drive Old Bess myself, although I had been 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


27 

warned against the thunderstorm—and some other 
things,” she added serenely. 

The Devil Wolf seemed not to hear the last word or 
two, which could only relate to himself; instead he said 
eagerly, “You expected your sister to meet you? Then 
I know who you are. You are Miss Eugenia Appleton, 
aren’t you?” 

“Yes, but how do you know ?” she asked wonderingly. 

“I was talking to your sister just the other day about 
your visit She is expecting you any day now, she said.” 

“You were talking to my sister? Why you are—” 
she began half-contemptuously, but the station agent’s 
words recurred to her, “Why, the Devil Wolf might be 
me or he might be your brother-in-law, or the Methodist 
minister, or the superintendent of the orphan asylum. 
There’s no telling.” 

“Yes, I know I am,” he finished naively, “but, never¬ 
theless, I am on your sister’s visiting list.” 

For some reason, the thing seemed to strike him as 
being humorous, for he suddenly threw back his head 
and laughed. It was the merry laughter of a man whose 
boyhood, while a thing of the past in point of years, still 
lingers around the corner, loath to depart forever. 
Evidently, it came from a heart not greatly overburdened 
with consciousness of sin. Involuntarily, Eugenia smiled 
at the merriment of it and waited for him to explain 
the cause of his mirth. Instead of doing this, however, 
he pointed to the overturned wagon at the foot of the 
hill. 


28 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Is that the thing you came in?” he asked. “Where 
is the horse?” 

“Old Bess became frightened and jerked herself free 
from the traces. I am afraid I didn’t fasten her 
securely.” 

“Then how are you going to get to Willowlake?” 

“By walking,” answered Eugenia tersely. 

“It is fully nine and a half miles and the roads will 
be swimming in water, to say nothing of the darkness 
and the things you might meet on the road to Willow- 
lake.” 

“Judging from what Williams told me,” laughed 
Eugenia, “you are the only thing to be feared around 
here.” 

“Thank you. But wherever there is a genuine 
article,” he remarked modestly, “there are always plenty 
of imitators. I’d hate to have you meet them. When 
the storm is over, I’ll hitch Lucifer to the old wagon 
and drive you into Willowlake myself. I’ve business 
there tonight anyway.” The last remark was uttered in 
the meditative tone of one who speaks his thoughts 
aloud. 

“But there are policemen in Willowlake,” began 
Eugenia, “and you—” 

“So?” 

“Aren’t you afraid of them?” 

The Devil Wolf waved his hand with a fine gesture of 
indifference. “If you knew the police force of Willow- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


29 

lake as well as I do, you would know why I never take 
them into consideration.” 

“My brother-in-law is part of it,” remarked Eugenia 
with a touch of asperity. 

“In that case,” he responded not a whit embarrassed, 
“you are in a reliable position to know just why I never 
take him into consideration.” 

“That is not fair to Arthur,” protested Eugenia, even 
while she laughed. “But since you do not fear the 
majesty of Willowlake’s law, I shall be only too glad 
to accept your offer, though I would hate to have you 
run any risk. How long does a storm last out here?” 

“Well, when it gets as good a start as this one has, it 
generally lasts two or three hours,” answered the Devil 
Wolf in a cheerful tone, and settled himself more com¬ 
fortably on the rock. 

The rain was still falling in the steady downpour that 
bade fair to corroborate the Devil Wolf’s statement, and 
with the passing of day, the wind had taken on the tang 
of a chilly night. Once or twice Eugenia, in her light 
linen wrap, shivered, a fact which the Devil Wolf finally 
noticed. He rose, unfastened the long black cloak, and 
drew it about her shoulders. 

“You need it worse,” she protested. “You have no 
coat.” 

“But I have a flannel shirt,” he argued, “and you have 
only a blouse of—of—what do you call it, anyway?” 

“Georgette crepe,” she finished meekly. 


30 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“It’s thinner than cobwebs,” he scolded while he ad¬ 
justed the cloak about her. 

“But the rain beats in on your side,” insisted Eugenia. 
“If I am to have the cloak, then let me sit on that side.” 

“You will sit just where you are,” he commanded. “I 
have spoken.” He reseated himself and tried as un¬ 
ostentatiously as possible, to keep out of the way of the 
cold rain that drove in upon him. 

“Your clothes will be drenched,” exclaimed Eugenia 
miserably. “You’ll catch your death of cold.” 

“That will help the Government conserve the forests,” 
he said enigmatically. 

“In what way?” 

“Why,” he answered wonderingly as though surprised 
at finding her so obtuse, “then they won’t have to build 
a gallows for me.” 

“You ought not to joke about a thing like that,” up¬ 
braided Eugenia. “If you won’t take back the cloak, at 
least take half of it.” 

There was an awful silence comprising all of a couple 
of seconds, during which Eugenia wished she had not 
spoken so on impulse and the Devil Wolf was trying to 
figure out why she had. Something had to be said, but 
neither could say it. Of all the words that danced 
through his brain, the Devil Wolf finally speared a few 
and strung them together into a fragmentary sentence. 

“It—it is a pretty large cloak, isn’t it?” 

He could not refuse the offer since that would imply 
that there was something behind the young lady’s words 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


3i 


other than mere kindly impulse, so he took for his half 
a scanty third and then the two sat there, silent, each 
contemplating a select art gallery of mental pictures. 

In the mind of the Devil Wolf rose a charming picture 
of an auburn-tressed, brown-eyed lady, clad in the grace¬ 
ful garments of the middle ages, leaning over a rose 
covered balcony and flinging a red rose to a gallant 
knight standing beneath. That the knight wore a heavy 
black mask did not seem to dismay the lady. It was a 
charming picture, especially when you look at it through 
a mist of driving rain, and when you are sitting under a 
shelter of rocks with one third of your own mantle over 
your shoulders, the other two thirds encircling the 
shoulders of a young lady who does things on impulse. 

The picture that swam before Eugenia’s eyes was not 
quite so pleasant, for it was a picture of sister Jane’s 
horrified eyes as she said in a choked voice, “You were 
with the Devil Wolf alone in The Hills? You shared 
his cloak with him? Eugenia, how scandalous!” 

She drew her hand over her eyes to banish the un¬ 
pleasant picture and turned to her companion. 

“You say you move among Willowlake’s upper three 
hundred and ninety-nine?” 

“I said I was on your sister’s visiting list,” he 
corrected. 

“According to Jane,” laughed Eugenia, “that amounts 
to practically the same thing. At least, it would pain 
her fearfully to think that it did not. What I want to 
know is, do you know an Englishman in Willowlake for 


32 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


his health? Jane says there is something the matter 
with his heart. Do you know him?” 

He looked at her curiously. “If it is Sir Mortimer 
Paige whom you mean—” 

“I believe that is the name,” said Eugenia doubt¬ 
fully. “Do you know him?” 

“Only slightly,” he answered cautiously. “What 
about him?” 

“Oh, nothing much,” said Eugenia carelessly. “Only 
Jane has been mentioning him rather frequently in her 
letters of late, and it suddenly occurred to me that your 
viewpoint of him would be unbiased and a bit piquant. 
You see, Jane is a little prejudiced.” 

“Why should she be mentioning Sir Mortimer to you 
— frequently?” 

“She is always mentioning men to me,” sighed 
Eugenia. “She wants me to marry. She thinks it is 
terrible for me to teach philosophy in a college and 
remain unmarried, and she is always choosing someone 
who she is perfectly sure will just suit me—and they 
never do. Sir Mortimer Paige is the latest one.” 

“Has she told you anything about him?” asked the 
Devil Wolf skeptically. 

“Only that he is wealthy, good-looking, and in Willow- 
lake for his health.” 

“Hm-m-m,” said the Devil Wolf non-committally. 

“What’s the matter with him?” asked Eugenia 
surprised. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


33 

“Oh, nothing,” was the answer in a tone implying that 
much was the matter if he cared to tell it. 

“I think you might tell me,” pouted Eugenia. She 
who had delved far in the intricacies of ancient Greek 
philosophy, had not failed to acquire knowledge of 
philosophy of an even more ancient order. When Eve 
pouted, Adam was plunged in despair. Not even the 
Devil Wolf was proof against a pair of adorably 
puckered lips. He looked away. 

“It will hurt less if you find out for yourself,” he said 
compassionately. “What do you think your chances are 
for becoming Lady Paige?” 

“Well, Jane seems to think they are rather good, 
though the race is not undisputed.” 

“Hm-m, what other lady aspires—” 

“A Miss Margaret Wyeth, Jane says.” 

“By the Skirts of Diana, the Huntress!” swore the 
Devil Wolf. “I can understand your wanting to be 
Lady Paige, because you have never seen Sir Mortimer, 
but I can’t understand Miss Wyeth’s desire. She knows 
him.” 

“Is he so very bad?” asked Eugenia in a dismayed 
tone. 

“Don’t let me prejudice you against him,” he remarked 
politely. 

“Do you know Miss Wyeth?” 

“I’ve spoken to her.” 

“Do you consider her a dangerous rival?” asked 


34 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Eugenia carelessly. She threw a questioning glance 
sideways at her companion and meeting his surprised 
gaze, looked hastily down. 

“That,” responded the Devil Wolf judiciously, 
“depends upon Sir Mortimer’s viewpoint as a dying man 
—and they sometimes have peculiar fancies. But by the 
Curls of Bacchus!” he threw a quick appraising glance 
at Eugenia, “if I were Sir Mortimer—” 

“Thank you,” said Eugenia coldly, with a polite in¬ 
clination of the head. It told the Devil Wolf more 
plainly than words could have done, that, in spite of her 
willingness to share his cloak, it would not do for him 
to presume too far. He obeyed the look and kept silent. 
Finally, Eugenia’s curiosity conquered. 

“But what’s the matter with Sir Mortimer ?” she 
insisted. 

“Wait until you see him,” jeered the Devil Wolf. 

“Has Sir Mortimer ever done anything to you?” 

“Well,” answered the Devil Wolf cautiously, “for one 
thing, he has a pearl necklace in his safe that I would like 
to have in mine. As soon as I get a few more important 
things cleaned up, I will go out after Sir Mortimer’s 
pearls.” 

“You’ll not steal them!” cried Eugenia with sudden 
energy and a bit of horror. 

“Looking upon them already as your own property?” 
he mocked. 

Eugenia gasped as does one who receives a sudden 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


35 


dash of cold water in the face. “Only a coward robs 
a dying man,” she said with contempt. 

“Yes,” he answered simply, “and that is the only 
reason why the pearls are still in Sir Mortimer’s posses¬ 
sion and not in mine.” 

Eugenia stole a shy little look at him from under 
lowered lashes. He had spoken as though it were a 
matter that understood itself. But what had the re¬ 
doubtable outlaw of Creektown fame to do with such a 
thing as honor? And who was he, anyway, this slender 
youth who swore by the old gods of Greece and Rome, 
and whose voice and eyes held in them hidden wells of 
laughter and youth, and who had nothing about him 
except his black mask that was suggestive of a night- 
rider, a doer of terrible deed's? 

Who was he who could by day consort with her sister, 
Jane Wilbur, the leader of Willowlake’-s little world of 
fashion, and who by night entered bank vaults and non¬ 
chalantly abstracted the contents thereof? And what 
induced him to turn aside from the paths of rectitude 
and enter those of outlawry? Was it just youth’s 
audacity, or was it some dreadful form of kleptomania 
that impelled him to acquire possession of property not 
legally his own? It was this fellow creature sitting 
beside her and sharing, with chivalric generosity, his 
black mantle, whom her brother-in-law, the prosecuting 
attorney of Willowlake, was hunting, and for whose 
capture bills offering large rewards were posted in Dover 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


36 

station. It must be his escapades that were causing 
Arthur all the uneasiness that Jane had been hinting at 
in her letters for months. 

And where did he stay that he made it so hard for 
the Willowlake vigilance committee to catch him? Out 
here in The Hills? She stared around at the scraggy- 
topped, bald hills, and wondered under which one was 
concealed the den of the Devil Wolf. Each separate 
hill grinned sardonically at her as though to say, “1 and 
I alone hold the secret!” 

What a curious situation it was for her, the respected 
and scholarly young teacher of philosophy! What 
would the faculty of Dearborn College say? She would 
have to omit this episode altogether from her recital 
of her summer vacation and relate only such pleasant 
things as meeting Sir Mortimer Paige, for instance. 
An outlaw. But what a curious outlaw, with his gay 
laugh, his mockery, his youth, his merriment, which, in 
spite of each attempt to hide it, bubbled into view. 

She made one resolve, however. He was on Jane’s 
visiting list, he had declared, and must be, if he were in 
such a state of intimacy with her autocratic sister as to 
be able to discuss with her the coming of her sister, and 
she would scrutinize that visiting list and every member 
of it. She was certain she would recognize again that 
merry laugh, thing of impudence and mirth that it was; 
or suppose that he could conceal that, any moment a 
pagan oath might give him away—those oaths that 
betrayed a startling familiarity with Greek mythology 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


37 

and showed a mind not wholly given to crime. He could 
not hide himself from her. 

The pleasant voice of the Devil Wolf seemed to come 
from a far distance. 

“It has really ceased raining now, Miss Appleton. ,, 

She aroused herself with a start and was dismayed to 
find that twilight had already fallen unnoticed by her, 
so deep she had been in her reflections. 

“I—I didn’t notice it,” she stammered. 

“A penny for your thoughts,” laughed the outlaw, as 
she rose and relieved herself of the cloak. “They must 
have been weighty to cause all that abstraction.” 

“I was thinking of Sir Mortimer,” she lied haughtily. 

“Then I withdraw the offer,” remarked the Devil 
Wolf grimly. “They are not worth that much.” 


CHAPTER THREE 


Eugenia surrendered to him the suit-case and travelling 
bag, and accepted his arm for the descent. Twilight had 
already fallen lightly upon The Hills and the rough 
boulders were slippery with the rain. Lucifer followed 
after them, picking his way just as carefully as they 
among the rain-loosened rocks. 

At the foot of the hill, the Devil Wolf bade Eugenia 
wait for him and then stumbled out into the flooded road 
to retrieve the discarded wagon. Fortunately, no part 
of the traces had been broken, but there followed an 
arduous time trying to get Lucifer into the harness. A 
light cut or two with the leather reins, and a constant 
invoking of the old Greek gods, interspersed here and 
there with a more or less modern oath, were all required 
to accomplish the task. 

“You had better keep the cloak on,” advised the outlaw 
as he helped Eugenia into the wagon. “The seat is wet 
and muddy.” 

He clambered in after her and Lucifer, indignant at 
his recent defeat, set off at a great pace, the sooner 
to be done with the humiliating drawing of the old cart. 

The first mile was done in silence, for the roads were 
filled with mud and water and one must pick one’s way 
carefully in the ever-deepening darkness. Gradually, 
38 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


39 


however, the water drained itself off into the crevices, 
the roads began to get better, and here and there a star 
peeped out wonderingly between the drained storm clouds. 
Lucifer kept up his severe indignant pace, determined, it 
seemed, not to wear the shackles any longer than was 
absolutely necessary. 

Eugenia never forgot that lonely ride through the 
darkened roads between The Hills. Her companion, in¬ 
tent upon finding his way, was silent, but as the roads 
improved and the stars beamed down little friendly 
messages between the rifts of the clouds, he now and 
then addressed a word to her, and Eugenia, desiring to 
draw him out, talked lightly upon all manner of topics. 
At first, he answered cautiously, seeming to divine her 
intention, but entering gaily into the game of wits, amazed 
Eugenia with his dexterity. Here was one, she thought, 
who had not acquired philosophy in a class-room but who 
had had it presented to him by Life. He uttered no 
postulate, established no predicate, but dipping here and 
there with boyish curiosity, had concocted a more or less 
palatable mess of reasoning. 

It might have been called the Philosophy of Laughter 
and Careless Youth, but through it all, and Eugenia no¬ 
ticed it with vague uneasiness, ran a note of sorrow, like 
a purple thread through golden tapestry. It followed 
closely upon the heels of his laughter, and was dispelled 
by his laughter—but it had been there. It troubled 
her, though she was not able to tell why. 

“It is you mystics who make the task of the philosopher 


40 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


so hard,” said she thoughtfully in answer to one of his 
aphorisms. “You see everything in comparison with 
something else—not in relation to it.” 

“We live by comparison,” he answered quickly. “It is 
the secret of the universe; it is the running melody of 
the music of the spheres; it is the pack-horse in the 
progress of civilization.” 

“It is the thing that holds us back,” returned Eugenia 
softly. 

The Devil Wolf turned his masked face toward the 
stars. “Think so?” he said slowly. “Your thinking of 
one thing in relation to another does not alter the thing 
itself. Comparison gives us the defects. It is the inborn 
trait in man to correct defects as he discovers them. Out 
of comparison of man with man will come the perfect 
man.” 

“But you don’t eliminate strife that way,” insisted 
Eugenia. “It is out of relation of man with man that 
universal brotherhood will come.” 

“No,” he protested, “because you dissect everything too 
minutely. You philosophers seek after details. Why 
not view the thing as a whole ? Discard curiosity about 
life and view it merely as a spectator at a play—when he 
hasn’t a pair of opera glasses; for when one possesses a 
pair of opera glasses, there is always the tempta¬ 
tion to focus on some definite object and magnify petty 
details. Don’t try to put a meaning, a symbol, as you call 
it, into everything, but try to believe that some old god, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


4i 


Bacchus perhaps, drunk with the purple wine of rare 
grapes, has fallen asleep under the grapevine and we and 
all the world are his drunken dreams. Sometimes a fly 
alighting on his eyelids disturbs his slumbers and so he 
dreams something fitful like the French Revolution. 
Immediately, the French Revolution assumes a meaning 
which it could not possibly have when one con¬ 
siders it as having really happened. Sometimes a stray 
breeze wafts itself across his perspiring forehead and 
so there appears in his dreams something pure and clean, 
and we have the Life and Death of Christ; and so that 
too is explained and in the only way in which it can be 
explained. Then after that breeze is past, let us suppose 
that he is disturbed by the quacking of geese in the barn¬ 
yard and so he dreams out all the persecutions of the 
Christians. Such a thing is possible; it is possible. Let 
us suppose that the life of Caesar Borgia was caused by 
the splashing of a ripe purple grape upon his lips from the 
vine above, the Napoleonic epoch by the distant thunder 
which presaged the storm, and the voyages of discovery 
by the lowing of the cattle as they waded in the brook. 
In what better way can we explain all these things? We 
are the dreams of a weary drunken god, sometimes dis¬ 
turbed in his slumbers; purposeless dreams, aimless, 
wildly and insanely impossible ; he will dream on until 
either because he has slept off his fatigue or his drunken¬ 
ness, or because he is rudely shaken, he will suddenly 
wake and then—” 


42 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“You have left no place for Reason in your system,” 
Eugenia interrupted, “and it is the foundation of all 
things.” 

“You Empiricist!” he laughed indulgently. 

Delighted, Eugenia listened while he called Idealism 
out to dance and tripped it lightly before her in fantastic 
steps. Almost she forgot that little note of sorrow which 
lurked in the background of everything he said, like a 
restless spirit. He was fascinating, this boyish outlaw, 
with his bubbling youth and quaint philosophy culled, one 
might say, from the rebellious Hills themselves. She had 
been more right than she knew when she said that he had 
probably found an analogy between himself and The Hills 
that revolted against Nature’s laws. Those epigrams of 
his, some few of them poison-tipped and annihilating, 
were such as The Hills might have uttered had nature 
given them mouths. 

She listened while he fled from argument to argument, 
too much fascinated to notice that each step led him into 
a blacker pit of doubt until he finally took the dangerous 
step from disbelief in everything to disbelief in Disbelief 
itself and, with boyish defiance, hurled his anathema of 
incredulity at the stars themselves. It was here that 
Eugenia laid one soft white hand on his arm. 

“Don’t enter that abyss,” she begged gently. “That 
is where one finds madness. Besides, I think we have 
had enough philosophy for one night. Have we not 
almost reached Willowlake?” 

“Perhaps a quarter-mile or so farther,” he answered. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


43 


“When we reach Willowlake,” she declared firmly, 
“you are going to turn back. I am grateful for what 
you have done for me and I will not have you endanger 
your liberty any further. I shall probably be able to 
find some sort of conveyance.” 

“I shall take you,” he returned equally firm, “to your 
sister’s residence. We shall not need to enter Willow- 
lake for she lives in the suburbs. Besides,” he laughed 
suddenly, “I told you I had business in Willowlake 
tonight.” 

Eugenia wondered what that business could be but 
thought it more consistent with her declaration of grati¬ 
tude to overlook his statement. 

They had long ago left behind them the mysterious 
stunted Hills and had entered a narrow little lane filled 
with mud now and offering but poor passage, but 
Eugenia guessed that once the water flowed away and 
the ground became dry, it would prove to be one of those 
pretty little country lanes that wind through woods and 
along rivers, offering much pleasure to those who walk 
and dream. 

“Does this road lead to my sister’s house?” she asked 
idly. 

“To the back of it,” he answered. “It will lead us to 
the gate of her little Italian Garden.” 

Eugenia looked up with a laugh. “Has Jane an 
Italian Garden? Arthur just hates them.” 

“Is that any reason,” asked her companion composedly, 
“why your sister should not have one if she wants it?” 


44 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“I see you know Jane very well,” sighed Eugenia. 
“She always was dictatorial.” 

“You may probably find it harder than you think to 
get out of marrying Sir Mortimer if your sister has set 
her heart on it,” he teased. 

“Let me take care of Sir Mortimer,” was Eugenia’s 
laughing response. 

At this moment, a jerk of the reins announced to 
Lucifer that the humiliating journey was over with. 
The Devil Wolf leaped to the ground and assisted 
Eugenia to alight. 

“There is a gate here somewhere,” he whispered. 
“Wait here until I find it.” Eugenia heard him walk 
about in the darkness, putting out a cautious hand now 
and then to rattle the iron spikes of the ornamental fence 
that Jane had put around her Italian Garden. She had 
always wanted one, though Eugenia concurred with her 
brother-in-law in finding their unnatural geometrical 
severity unpleasant. 

A slight rattling of iron posts announced that the 
Devil Wolf had at last found the gate and he called to 
her softly through the darkness. “About fifteen steps 
to the right, Miss Appleton; can you find it?” 

“Of course,” she answered cheerfully. “Is it locked?” 

“Yes,” he said coolly, “but what is a mere lock to a 
practiced hand?” She heard him leap over the low iron 
fence and then heard his quick manipulation of the lock. 
In a moment or two the iron gate swung open and 
Eugenia passed through. Before her stretched the white 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


45 


gravel walks of the Italian Garden with its central foun¬ 
tain, its geometrical beds of colored plants, its sand¬ 
stone statues. Eugenia held out her hand frankly to 
the Devil Wolf who stood to one side waiting, it seemed, 
for the word of dismissal. 

“This walk leads around to the front of the house,” 
she whispered, “and I can run right up to the porch 
from here. It was very good of you to risk your 
liberty, perhaps your life, to help me out of my dilemma. 
I shall try some day to reciprocate the service. You will 
see that Pete’s wagon is returned to him? Old Bess, I 
imagine, will return home of her own accord. He was 
to call at Willowlake tomorrow for the cart.” 

“I will see that it is returned,” the Devil Wolf assured 
her quietly. He had taken the slim white hand and 
pressed it lightly. “You need not worry about it, Miss 
Appleton.” 

“I thank you very much,” she reiterated shyly. “I 
shall always owe you this debt.” 

“You owe me nothing,” he protested with the boyish 
laugh that seemingly was never far from his lips. “I 
owe the prosecuting attorney, your brother-in-law, a debt 
or two myself. I give him so much trouble.” There 
was an odd note of contrition in his voice, the odder per¬ 
haps because it sounded sincere. 

Once more Eugenia proffered her hand and once more 
the Devil Wolf clasped it in his own unlawful one. 

“Goodbye,” she whispered and turned to go, when, 
as though by a magician’s hand, the house which had 


46 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


been dark on that side overlooking the Italian Garden, 
suddenly blazed with light. A ray fell across the path 
where the Devil Wolf stood and Eugenia, with an 
anxious movement, drew him back into the shadow. 

“They may see you,” she whispered. “The rooms are 
full of people. What can be going on at Jane’s, I 
wonder?” 

The Devil Wolf, glad perhaps of a chance to put off 
the parting a moment or two longer, answered quickly. 
“I believe this is the night the Ladies’ Improvement 
Society of Willowlake meets. Your sister is perpetual 
grand mistress of the seventh pulpit.” 

Eugenia smothered a laugh with the back of her hand 
as she said, “That sounds like Jane. What is she 
trying to improve now?” 

“She is trying to abolish the two dance halls in Willow- 
lake. They are perfectly harmless and everyone knows 
it. Those three ladies around your sister are the ways 
and means committee.” 

Eugenia groaned. “Do I have to go in there?” she 
asked plaintively. 

“Don’t,” suggested the Devil Wolf impulsively. “It’s a 
perfectly lovely night and we can have a wonderful time 
out here.” 

Eugenia made no response to the boyish suggestion. 
Instead she asked, “Tell me who everyone is, if you know 
them.” 

“They are all more or less friends, of mine,” he 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


47 


answered nonchalantly. “The lady in the black cling¬ 
ing dress, of course, is your sister. Then the lady next 
to her is Miss Cartright. She is Willowlake’s instru¬ 
mental and vocal instructress in music. You will like 
her—not. She believes in infant damnation and the in¬ 
violability of the Ten Commandments. There is, how¬ 
ever, one good thing that can be said of her. She buys 
her music without any regard whatsoever for the pic¬ 
ture on the cover. It is a rare trait in women. Beyond 
that—” there was a dramatic little pause. 

“Who is the young girl in blue?” whispered Eugenia. 

“Your deadly rival,” answered her companion easily. 
“I believe you said Miss Margaret Wyeth was also in the 
race for Sir Mortimer’s coronet.” 

“She is pretty,” admitted Eugenia. “Jane said she 
was. Who is the little woman next to her?” 

“Mrs. Parsons, the Methodist minister’s lady.” 

They were about to say goodbye once more when un¬ 
expectedly, one of the long French windows opened and 
all four ladies came out on the veranda. 

“Shades of Castor and Pollux!” groaned the Devil 
Wolf. “There is no going now!” The broad beams of 
light from the open windows lit up the Italian Garden 
even to the iron fence, and all paths were in plain view 
of the four ladies. 

Eugenia retreated behind the fountain and drew the 
despairing outlaw with her. 

“They can’t see us here,” she assured him. “I can’t 


43 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


go up now. They will wonder all kinds of things. They 
will probably go in again in a moment. Sh-h! ,, The 
voices of the ladies came distinctly to their ears. 

“It is so lovely out here,” Mrs. Wilbur was saying, 
“now that the storm has passed. I am sure the rest of 
the night will be fair.” 

“Everything smells so fresh,” gushed Miss Margaret. 
“I do love your Italian Garden, Mrs. Wilbur.” 

“How shall we divide the town off?” asked Miss 
Cartright practically, for she had no patience with Miss 
Wyeth’s enthusiasms. “I can take that district north 
of the river from Chestnut Street to The Hills. There 
are about ninety votes in that district alone.” 

“And you will get them all, I am sure,” remarked 
Jane sweetly. “Margaret, you take that part of Willow- 
lake from Main Street south and Mrs. Parsons can take 
Fifth Avenue west and I will take the east side.” 

“But you have the greatest portion, Mrs. Wilbur,” 
protested the young girl. “And you have all the 
secretarial work besides. It doesn’t seem fair.” 

“You forget that my sister Eugenia will be here any 
day and she will help me, I am sure. I expect a telegram 
any day now, asking me to meet her.” 

“Is she sympathetic to our improvement work?” asked 
Mrs. Parsons timidly. 

“She teaches philosophy, Mrs. Parsons,” sighed Jane. 
“It is not always possible to tell just what stand Eugenia 
will take on anything, but I am sure she will assist me. 
By the way, Margaret,” she turned to the young lady, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


49 


“don’t forget to head your list with Sir Mortimer’s vote. 
He is the main personage in your territory and his name 
will do much. Once get his vote and the Conways, 
Farrohills and Desmonds will all follow.” 

“I shall ask Sir Mortimer tomorrow,” Margaret 
assured her. “That is,” a bit anxiously, “if he is well 
enough to be seen. One never knows when an attack 
of nerves will come. Do you think he is improved, Mrs. 
Wilbur?” 

“Greatly,” assented Mrs. Wilbur, “although he still 
finds it necessary to keep to his bed the greater part of the 
day. I do hope he will be well enough to meet Eugenia 
when she arrives. I have quite set my heart,” she ig¬ 
nored Margaret’s presence with a bit of malice, “on 
seeing Eugenia become Lady Paige. She would make a 
beautiful Lady Paige. Eugenia is tall, you know, and 
carries herself well, and with her red hair, dark brown 
eyes, and perfectly marvellous complexion—I wish I had 
it—she will make a perfectly stunning Lady Paige.” 

“There doesn’t seem to be much hope for you,” the 
Devil Wolf whispered in Eugenia’s ear. 

“Just wait,” advised Eugenia grimly. 

“ ‘The best laid schemes of mice and men,’ ” laughed 
Miss Margaret nervously. “If your sister is so inde¬ 
pendent in thought and action as you have told us, she 
may not take kindly to your schemes for her marital 
happiness, especially when it relates to one in such feeble 
health as Sir Mortimer.” 

“There are quite a few ladies in Willowlake,” re- 


50 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


torted Jane frostily, “to whom Sir Mortimer’s feeble 
health would not seem an impediment to their becoming 
Lady Paige.” 

“I only meant,” Margaret said hastily, “that your 
sister, judging from what you have told us about her, will 
not choose her husband to accommodate your wishes but 
her own, even if her choice should fall on such an 
impossible creature as—as the Devil Wolf, for instance.” 
There was a general laugh which relieved the somewhat 
tense atmosphere which had arisen between the two 
ladies, but which could not dispel the sudden embarrass¬ 
ment which fell on the two eavesdroppers behind the 
fountain. Eugenia was glad for the darkness that hid 
her flaming cheeks and the Devil Wolf murmured some¬ 
thing under his breath about a “confounded chatterbox.” 

“Speaking of the Devil Wolf,” said Mrs. Wilbur sud¬ 
denly, “I do wish something could be done about him. 
Arthur is worried to death.” 

“It seems so queer that no one has ever seen him,” 
sighed Mrs. Parsons. “I mean, of course, without his 
mask. I heard that over at Versailles, the bank has taken 
every precaution, for everyone knows that there will be 
a shipment of cattle money and the bank officials are so 
nervous.” 

“That is nothing to what Papa is,” laughed Miss Mar¬ 
garet. “Every month, you know, he has the payroll 
money for the mining people and those nights when that 
$14,000 is in the house are the only nights that Papa 


THE DEVIL WOLF 51 

prays. I just know it will not be long before the Devil 
Wolf gets it.” 

‘‘It will take the women of this district to put a stop 
to this thing,” asserted Miss Cartright firmly. “With 
all due respect to your husband, Mrs. Wilbur, I cannot 
see where he and his men are making any progress in the 
capture of this bold outlaw.” 

“I am sure Mr. Wilbur is doing all he can,” replied 
Mrs. Wilbur with some little asperity. “If he knew 
where the Devil Wolf would strike next, of course, it 
would be easy to lie in wait for him. As it is, no one 
knows just whose vaults and money-bags are safe, nor 
how long they will be safe.” 

“And if he is left unchecked now,” hinted Miss Cart- 
right darkly, “how long do you think it will be before he 
will not confine his efforts to money-bags alone? The 
women and children of this country must be protected 
against this despoiler. I visit some of my pupils rather 
late in the evening, and I am becoming afraid of being 
accosted by this brute any time. We shall soon have 
bolder outrages than just the robbing of a bank if we 
do not put forth some effort—some sincere effort,” she 
added with emphasis. 

“I haven’t heard yet,” said Mrs. Parsons timidly, “of 
any woman being molested nor of any child being 
harmed. Still, as Miss Cartright says, there is always 
a possibility that he will grow bolder the longer he is 
left undeterred in his career. It seems to me though, 


52 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


that it is a case for the Government, especially after the 
express train robbery at Creektown. ,, 

“Oh, of course, the Government has interfered and 
volunteered aid,” asserted Mrs. Wilbur hastily, “but both 
Arthur and the sheriff fancied they could handle the 
situation themselves, and neither has thought it neces¬ 
sary to call in Government aid as yet, though I heard 
Arthur telling Sir Mortimer yesterday that both he and 
the sheriff are about ready to throw up their hands and 
ask Government protection. I am sure I hope they do so, 
in which case we shall probably soon have the Devil Wolf 
swinging from a gallows as he richly deserves. It is 
getting cooler, though; had we not better go in?” 

There was a chorus of hasty affirmatives and soon the 
porch was clear of occupants and the long French win¬ 
dows were once again closed. 

Eugenia rose from her crouching position and faced 
her companion. He was leaning against the fountain, 
his shoulders shaking with suppressed merriment. 

“If ever I decide to go out after any woman,” he 
choked, “it won’t be Miss Cartright.” 

Eugenia’s lips twitched with a kindred sense of amuse¬ 
ment, for Miss Cartright had been facing the light and 
Eugenia had had a good glimpse of the lady. 

“You had better go now while the coast is clear,” she 
advised, determined to get him through the little iron 
gate before any more interruptions came, for it sud¬ 
denly occurred to her that it was about time to put an 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


53 


end to the scene. It was scarcely the situation for her, 
the sedate young teacher of philosophy at Dearborn 
College,—out in her sister’s garden with a man who not 
only was and persisted in remaining nameless, but who 
was hunted by the law as represented by her brother-in- 
law and the sheriff. It was the recollection of this fact 
that put a sudden little chill in the goodbye that she said 
now for the third time. He looked up at her quickly 
as he noted the altered tone, for the first and second 
goodbyes had been quite warm and friendly. 

“I reckon it is time to go,” he remarked. “As your 
sister said, it is getting chilly. Br-r-r.” 

Eugenia bit her lips to keep from laughing. That 
boyish soul of his would peep out at all moments. 

“I hope we shall meet again,” she said, this time 
warmly and friendly enough. 

“I shall send you an invitation to my hanging when 
your sister’s wish is gratified,” he gloomed. “How else 
could we meet?” 

“Let us leave that on the knees of the gods,” she said 
lightly. “Don’t forget your cloak. It is hanging over 
the gate, and goodbye, and thank you a thousand 
times.” 

There was another light handclasp; then he watched 
her as she ran nimbly up the white gravel walk to the 
porch. 

The Devil Wolf picked up his cloak, closed the little 
iron gate behind him, and mounted into the rickety old 


54 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


wagon, but he did not put Lucifer into motion 
immediately. Instead he turned toward the lighted win¬ 
dows of Arthur Wilbur’s house. 

“After twenty-nine years of fighting shy of them—” 
He did not complete his thought, but groaned softly. 
“Verily, Venus hath this night struck me with her 
girdle!” 


CHAPTER FOUR 


The residence of the prosecuting attorney was the 
prettiest in all Willowlake. In building, he had con¬ 
sulted an architect with a romantic instinct, with the 
result that the house was a quaint mixture of old and 
new, combining with pleasing consistency the beauty 
of the old with the good sense of the new. It was built 
of yellowish brick, two stories high, with an attic that 
ran the length of the house. The wide verandas of a 
preceding age ended in the modern sleeping porch. 
There were three or four old-fashioned gables that were 
added in such a way as not to obscure light and air, and 
they hinted of charming alcoves and cushioned recesses. 
A solidly built outside chimney gave promise of an enor¬ 
mous fireplace. 

The house was set well back at the end of an avenue 
of elm trees which the architect had insisted upon and 
which the prosecuting attorney liked for its own sake. 
The Italian Garden which Jane had added at the back of 
the house he tolerated because Jane was Jane, and there 
was nothing else to do. 

The storm of the preceding day had broken the intense 
heat and the air that came blowing in from The Hills 
was as warm and soft as that of a late May day. 

On the wide eastern veranda that overlooked the 
55 


56 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Italian Garden Mrs. Wilbur was issuing last instructions 
to the committee for the suppression of public dance 
halls in Willowlake. Eugenia, clad in a white clinging 
summery dress, sat in the porch-swing and kept it in 
motion with the tip of one white-slippered foot. She 
was listening to Jane’s minute instructions with a smile 
of amusement on her lips and pity for Willowlake’s 
younger generation in her heart. 

Mrs. Wilbur was a bustling little woman of some 
thirty years, light-haired, blue-eyed, and with a passion 
for suppressing things of a questionable nature. 
Willowlake, while it liked her, groaned in agony of spirit 
each time that she succeeded in suppressing something, 
for it meant that in a little while she would begin on some 
other pleasure dear to their hearts. The young people 
moaned and groaned at each curtailment of their pleasure, 
though they were young enough to appreciate the humor¬ 
ous side of it. She ruled everything and everybody from 
the mayor down to her husband and nothing was too in¬ 
significant for her attention. 

There had been a scene the night before when Eugenia, 
assured and self-possessed, had calmly walked into her 
sister’s house at eight-thirty and announced, in answer 
to various questions, that she had driven over from Dover 
alone because Pete was drunk and that owing to the 
thunderstorm, she had camped in The Hills for two 
hours. She had kept with the Devil Wolf the faith he 
had never asked for and no mention of him appeared in 
her narrative. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


57 

“But why didn’t you telegraph?” Jane had cried, “and 
wait for me at Dover?” 

“I am tired, Jane,” Eugenia had protested laughingly. 
“Spare me. We can argue it out in the morning.” 

And in the morning, they did argue it out, Jane 
stubbornly, clinging to her point, and Eugenia with 
philosophical calm stating that she was not at all sorry. 

“But it was dangerous to go through The Hills alone,” 
Jane cried. “What with the Devil Wolf—but I suppose 
you didn’t know about the Devil Wolf?” 

“I got all the details from the station-master at Dover. 
His fear of the outlaw seems tempered with about seven- 
eighths admiration. He kept comparing him with one 
Buck Anderson, I believe, much to said Buck’s det¬ 
riment.” 

“Eugenia, I never heard of anything so vulgar!” 

“But it is perfectly true,” retorted Eugenia serenely, 
as she reached for another piece of buttered toast. “I 
sat for forty minutes in the station at Dover waiting for 
you or Arthur to come and at the end of that time found 
out that you had not received my letter owing to the fact 
that the postmaster’s newly arrived twins had driven 
out of his head all responsibility concerning the United 
States mail. You will probably get my letter today un¬ 
less something else of a domestic nature occurs to upset 
him.” 

“To be so calm!” cried Jane with uplifted hands. 
“When it makes me shudder to think of it. No one goes 
into The Hills now unless they have to. Ever since the 


58 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Creektown robbery a few months ago, no one will go 
there without a cordon of police. You were absolutely 
mad, Eugenia. If you had met him—” 

The entrance of Katie, the little Irish maid, put an 
end to the tirade of reproaches. She held out a little 
silver tray on which a note lay. 

“A letter for Miss Eugenia,” she announced. 

“Why, it hasn’t come through the mail!” said Jane in 
a tone of surprise. “Who could possibly be writing to 
you, Eugenia? It must come from someone in Willow- 
lake, and you haven’t met anybody as yet.” 

“Pardon me, will you, Jane?” asked Eugenia, pre¬ 
tending not to be aware of her sister’s curiosity. 

But if the note itself aroused Jane’s curiosity and love 
of ruling, the sudden flushing of Eugenia’s cheeks as she 
read dismayed her. 

“My dear Miss Appleton,” the note said. “I have in 
my possession a little silver vanity case which fell out of 
the folds of my cloak and which is evidently your prop¬ 
erty, for the initials E. A. are on the lid. I hasten to in¬ 
form you of this fact in order that, should you miss it, 
you will not believe that its disappearance is due to any 
abstraction on my part. I shall seek an early opportunity 
to return it. You have my heartfelt wishes for your 
speedy success in the little handicap with Miss Wyeth.” 

The letter was rudely printed, and for signature had 
at the bottom of the page a crude drawing of a some¬ 
what shaky but anatomically correct wolf with fire 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


59 

belching from his nostrils and long horns upon his 
head. 

Eugenia laughed aloud, thus pricking Jane’s curiosity 
to the breaking point. 

“Eugenia 1 ” cried that little matron'with righteous dis¬ 
approval. “Who in Willowlake can be writing to you 
to make you blush like that? I insist upon knowing.” 

“Honey,” begged Eugenia earnestly, “I was twenty- 
five my last birthday and won’t you please, please, grant 
me the privilege of at least keeping the names of my dolls 
secret?” 

Jane was indignant and said so, but finding Eugenia 
adamant, at last gave up the inquiry though her eyes still 
showed signs of her offended dignity. 

Eugenia, at the first opportunity, took Katie aside. 

“Katie, who delivered this letter to you?” 

“No one, miss,” answered the girl. “It was on the 
doorstep when I went out this morning at five-thirty.” 

“It was just a joke, Katie,” explained Eugenia 
hastily. 

She felt repentant at sight of Jane’s grieved coun¬ 
tenance, and tried to make up for it by showing a 
pleasant interest in the society’s efforts to suppress the 
public dance-halls, the committee for which had arrived 
early for last instructions. 

The committee, besides Mrs. Wilbur, consisted of 
three ladies. Miss Cartright, the teacher of vocal and 
instrumental music in Willowlake, was a tall spare 


6o 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


woman whose hair was beginning to show signs of a 
tendency to turn gray. She spoke in a high, affected 
tone of voice, but because of her strict virtue and integ¬ 
rity of purpose was Mrs. Wilbur’s first lieutenant. 

The second lieutenant was of a different nature and 
one wondered somewhat why she was there, for in the first 
place, Miss Margaret Wyeth was young, very pretty, and 
of a merry disposition; and in the second place lived not 
in Willowlake but in the suburb on the other side of it, 
Mayfair, some seven miles away. In spite of her merry 
blue eyes and appealing youth, Mrs. Wilbur had never 
felt any doubts about Miss Wyeth’s sympathy in regard 
to dance halls. 

The third person was the Methodist minister’s lady, 
Mrs. Parsons, a meek little slip of a woman, who fol¬ 
lowed unquestioningly wherever Mrs. Wilbur led, shared 
in no laurels when the thing succeeded, and took most 
of the blame when it failed. 

“Now, girls,” Mrs. Wilbur was saying, “we have only 
two months in which to succeed in this thing, for by that 
time, Mike O’Reilly will be back and we might just as well 
understand the situation right now, and just what his 
return will mean. To eliminate these dance halls, we 
must combat a political machine of which Mike O’Reilly 
is the head. He is looking for the mayoralty and he 
knows he will not get it unless he is elected by the factory 
people, so he will go to any length to please them, and 
as he is owner of the Willowlake Sentinel, he can make 
the commissioners do just about what he wants them to 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


61 


do. We must get this before the welfare board before 
he returns and the factory people get a chance to pour 
their story into his ears. After the bill has once been 
passed, not even Mike O’Reilly can void it.” 

"He is awfully influential, Papa says,” remarked Miss 
Wyeth thoughtfully. 

"He won’t be back before the middle of August,” said 
Mrs. Wilbur hastily, "but, we must lose no time in getting 
the votes of the most prominent citizens in Willowlake. 
Now, Margaret, Sir Mortimer is the most influential 
person in your district. Try and get his name first. 
As I told you last night, all the others will follow nicely. 
Miss Cartright, if you can, get Dr. Fenwick’s name. I 
don’t think you will have any trouble with the others. 
Mrs. Parsons will, of course, head her list with the 
minister’s name, and I shall have Arthur’s. Margaret, 
child, when you make that little stretch there by Maple 
Avenue, you had better get some man to go with you. 
They are in sympathy with the factory people, and there 
may be some unpleasantness.” 

"I suppose I can get Brother Jerry,” said Margaret 
doubtfully. "He hasn’t a thing to do.” 

A curious little silence fell upon the four ladies at 
mention of this name, the little silence that always suc¬ 
ceeds the mention of a ne’er-do-well. Eugenia noticed 
the silence and wondered what Jerry had ever done to 
merit this mark of attention. 

"Jerry will do nicely, Margaret,” said Mrs. Wilbur 
pleasantly, trying to break the embarrassed little pause. 


62 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Although I fear that he is not in much sympathy with 
our work. He frequents those places himself, doesn’t 
he?” 

“Yes,” replied Miss Margaret wearily. “I do wish 
Jerry would settle down. Papa has offered to help him 
secure a decent position if he would only agree to put 
his attention to it. Why, do you know, for whole days 
at a time Jerry leaves Willowlake and Papa never knows 
what he is doing or where he is. But he is a good 
boy.” 

“I am sure of that,” put in Mrs. Parsons. “He has 
such pleasant black eyes and such a merry laugh. He 
will come to himself one of these days, my dear.” 
Turning to Mrs. Wilbur, she continued, “If this is all, 
Mrs. Wilbur, we had better set out early. I can only 
give a half day to it; I have the minister’s luncheon to 
prepare, you know.” 

The three ladies rose to leave and Eugenia came for¬ 
ward to give a hand to each. 

“My dear,” said gentle little Mrs. Parsons, “I trust 
that you will sometimes come to visit our Young Peoples’ 
League. It meets every Wednesday evening. You 
would be so welcome.” 

Eugenia, struck by the patient gentleness of the sweet 
face, gave the expected promise and made a little vow 
to keep it some Wednesday night. She had liked the 
minister’s wife at first sight as much as, at first sight, she 
had disliked Miss Cartright. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


63 

'‘I am glad to hear that you are going to help us,” said 
that strong-minded lady as she touched the tips of 
Eugenia’s fingers with her own. 'Though, of course, 
everyone must be in sympathy with such a worthy 
cause.” 

“I am not really in sympathy with your cause,” 
retorted Eugenia mildly, “because I believe you are tak¬ 
ing away one of the pleasures of people who have but 
few of them. What little help I have offered to give 
my sister will certainly not be in the matter of getting 
votes.” 

“The dance halls are a danger to the community,” ar¬ 
gued Miss Cartright. “How can young girls remain 
good and virtuous amid such temptations?” 

“You are confounding goodness with virtue,” said 
Eugenia lightly. “That is a sad mistake and one which 
the moralists are always making.” The Devil Wolf had 
said that the night before and she flung it now into Miss 
Cartright’s teeth, watching with a sort of mischievous 
glee the horror that glowed in that lady’s face. 

“If that is a sample of the philosophy you teach, Miss 
Appleton,” snapped Miss Cartright acridly, “I must say 
I am sorry for the immortal souls of your pupils.” 

She bowed stiffly and joined Mrs. Parsons on the 
steps. Margaret Wyeth took Eugenia’s hand and shook 
it cordially. “Do come to see me sometime,” she begged. 
“I get so lonesome with only Papa, and Jerry isn’t all a 
brother should be. Of course, there is Aunt Elmira but 


64 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


she is always busy with her household affairs and 
she really isn’t company. Do come.” And Eugenia 
promised. 

Jane sank down beside Eugenia with a sigh of relief. 
“I am so glad they are gone. I thought that minx would 
never go.” 

Eugenia looked up with surprise. 

“Margaret Wyeth,” said Jane, answering Eugenia’s 
questioning look. “If she knew Sir Mortimer was com¬ 
ing this morning, she never would have gone. The way 
that girl tries to catch him is terrible, absolutely shame¬ 
less. Why, Eugenia, she all but goes to see him.” And 
Jane assumed a look of conscious virtue. 

“Is he so fascinating?” asked Eugenia idly. 

“My dear, no. She doesn’t care a rap for Sir Morti¬ 
mer himself, but wants to be able to put ‘Lady Mar¬ 
garet’ on her visiting cards. And I have reserved that 
honor for you.” 

“Jane, you are perfectly shameless now,” protested 
Eugenia. “I came out here to visit you this summer, not 
to get a husband. And don’t you think,” she hinted, 
“that it is a bit indelicate to have Sir Mortimer call so 
soon after my arrival?” 

“Oh, he isn’t coming to see you,” Jane assured her 
soothingly. “You see, he is giving a fancy dress ball in 
about three or four weeks and wants me to manage it for 
him. His nerves, poor man, are such that he cannot take 
charge himself. It is rather odd having a fancy dress 
ball in the summer time, but it is so cool here in the eve- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


65 


nings, on account of The Hills. Of course, when he 
asked me, I told him I would be delighted to arrange 
matters for him. It is about that he is coming. And 
naturally,” she added with an arch look, “since you are 
here, I am going to introduce you; and whatever you 
do,” she cautioned, “don’t do anything to your hair. It 
is just about perfect.” She gazed upon her younger 
sister with fond pride. “I don’t see how Sir Mortimer 
can help falling in love with you, ill as he is. He can’t 
help but see the difference between you and Miss 
Wyeth.” 

“Jane, you still treat me as you did when we were chil¬ 
dren and you used to call me your doll!” 

“But you always were the prettiest little doll, Euge¬ 
nia,” said Jane tenderly. “I sometimes can’t believe that 
you are twenty-five years old and a teacher of philosophy. 
It is about time you married, dear; I am beginning to be 
discouraged. Eugenia, why didn’t you marry that 
young Penham I introduced to you last summer? He 
comes of an old and aristocratic family, and—” 

“If I had married him,” said Eugenia diplomatically, 
“I wouldn’t be single now and so*couldn’t marry Sir Mor¬ 
timer.” 

“Well, that’s true, too,” agreed Jane. “And he can’t 
help but fall in love with you.” 

“But suppose I don’t fall in love with him? asked Eu¬ 
genia laughing. 

“Oh, but you will! All the girls of Willowlake are 
crazy about him.” 


66 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Eugenia rose determinedly. “Jane, if you say another 
word about this thing, I'll pack up and leave!” 

“Do sit down again, dear, and don’t get so excited,” 
begged Jane. “There is no need for it; no one is going 
to force you to marry him, although he is nice-looking, 
and wealthy, and all that. But the main thing is that 
you have a good time this summer. I shall give one or 
two little affairs myself; then Marian Desmond always 
gives one big party and the Fenwicks, too. Then Sir 
Mortimer’s fancy dress ball will come off in about a 
month and, of course, there will be any number of other 
things to do. And I shall want you to meet all the 
worth-while people. There are any number of young 
men here, really fine chaps, Eugenia, although, of course, 
I have quite set my heart on Sir Mortimer—there, dear, 
don't get excited! I won't mention him again, if you 
don’t want me to. Then there is Tom Fenwick, the 
young Vice-President of the Farmers National Bank, 
and Will Chadwick, the Judge’s son, you know, and 
Bobbie McCarthy, and, oh, any number of them.” 

“Miss. Wyeth’s brother, Jerry?” asked Eugenia idly, 
and with no apparent interest. 

Jane looked at her with a queer look and the same little 
peculiar silence. At last she shrugged her shoulders. 
“I should say not. I do hope you will have very little to 
do with Jerry O’Neil. And by the way, he is Margaret’s 
half-brother; her mother’s son by a former marriage. 
Jerry is,—well, just a ne’er-do-well; young, good-look¬ 
ing, and a clever talker, but absolutely worthless—” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


67 

She ceased abruptly as a big red car swung into the 
avenue. There is Sir Mortimer now,” she whispered 
excitedly. She rose hastily with a quick look at Eugenia 
to see how she looked. Eugenia caught the look and sti¬ 
fled a laugh; Jane was so horribly apparent. 

Jane welcomed the baronet with gracious courtesy and 
introduced him to Eugenia with conscious pride in her 
sister’s loveliness. 

“Eugenia, let me present Sir Mortimer Paige.” 

Eugenia extended a hand to Sir Mortimer, looked full 
in his face and then turned on her sister a look fairly 
saturated with reproach, a look that said, “Is this what 
you want me to marry?” Now, at last, she understood 
just what the Devil Wolf had meant. 

Sir Mortimer Paige was slender in build, with shoul¬ 
ders that drooped a bit, though there was no outward 
sign of the “something the matter with his heart” that 
Willowlake talked about, unless it was his pallor, which, 
though he was only a year or two the right side of thirty, 
made him appear much younger. His hair was dark 
brown and it was tossed back from his forehead in a way 
that set the hearts of all the susceptible young ladies of 
Willowlake and vicinity to pounding dreadfully. His 
features were regular; “too damned regular,” the pros¬ 
ecuting attorney had said very bitterly one day when he 
had been forced to listen to Jane’s rhapsodies over the 
Byron-like beauty of the baronet. 

And indeed, thought Eugenia scornfully, with another 
hostile look at her sister, Sir Mortimer could easily pose 


68 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


for a portrait of the idolized poet, for not only had his 
mouth a certain Byronic fullness, and his nose a certain 
Byronic straightness, but even his eyes held in them the 
poet’s languor and weariness of life. With one excep¬ 
tion. Behind all the effeminate beauty was no indica¬ 
tion of the mental activity that had been Byron’s. Here 
was indifference, weariness, a passive waiting for death. 
Sir Mortimer had lain down his weapons and given over 
a half-fought battle; the silent surrender showed itself 
in the half-closed eyelids that hid the weary dark eyes, 
and the tired droop at the corners of the lips. His voice, 
as he murmured a few commonplaces, was well- 
modulated and low, but a hopeless drawl; and the ends of 
his sentences died in his throat as though the effort to 
complete them was too much for him. 

As though it were his unquestionable right, Sir 
Mortimer sank into the easiest, most comfortable chair 
on the veranda. After the necessary remarks of cour¬ 
tesy to Eugenia, during which he hardly glanced at her, 
Sir Mortimer and Jane plunged into an animated—at 
least, on Jane’s part—conversation about the fancy ball 
which Sir Mortimer was to give in a few weeks. He 
would leave everything to her, he said, since his health 
would not permit him to indulge in any untoward 
exertion. He would O. K. the bills and sign the checks 
and she oould make of the fancy dress ball what she 
liked. He reserved the right to make out the invitations, 
but beyond that the management was in her hands. Jane 
was in her element and suggested, revised, accepted, and 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


69 

finally rejected numerous ideas, and assured Sir Morti¬ 
mer that she would bend all her efforts to bring it to a 
successful conclusion. 

“Eugenia will help me, Sir Mortimer/’ added Jane, 
“although you would not suppose a philosopher to care 
for such frivolous things as fancy dress balls.” 

“I hope you do not carry your philosophy quite that 
far,” remarked Sir Mortimer, turning to Eugenia and 
looking at her for the first time. Jane, watching 
covertly, saw the look of approval dawn in the baronet’s 
weary eyes and began to arrange the wording of the 
announcement. Eugenia would be married from her 
sister’s home, of course; since the death of their parents, 
it was the only home she knew. “Mr. and Mrs. Arthur 
Wilbur announce the engagement of their sister 
Miss Eugenia Appleton, to Sir Mortimer Paige, 
Baronet.” What a long face Margaret Wyeth would 
make! 

She looked toward Eugenia fondly. How lovely her 
young sister was! Calm and self-possessed, Jane would 
have given much to have Eugenia’s bearing, her poise, 
her little air of aloofness. How common Margaret 
Wyeth looked in comparison, with her gushing girlish¬ 
ness and doll’s face. 

Her abstraction had caused her to lose the trend of the 
conversation, but now she heard Sir Mortimer say, “But 
I should think the faculty would object to your inoculat¬ 
ing the pupils with such terrible doctrines, even in these 
days of free-thinking.” 


70 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Oh, I don’t teach that,” laughed Eugenia. “That is 
my private philosophy.” 

“What is Eugenia saying, Sir Mortimer?” interrupted 
Jane austerely. “Is it so terrible that you have to 
lecture her? I don’t know where she gets those radical 
opinions.” 

“It really isn’t original,” cried Eugenia hastily and a 
little confused, for the fact was that the Devil Wolf had 
uttered it on the night before when driving her between 
the silent, mysterious Hills. 

“I should hope not,” retorted Jane, rising. “Will you 
pardon me, Sir Mortimer? I must give instructions 
about luncheon. Eugenia, please entertain Sir Morti¬ 
mer until I return and mind that you don’t try to convert 
him to your queer ideas about things.” 

“Perhaps I have some queer ideas of my own,” sug¬ 
gested Sir Mortimer gravely. 

“Oh, but they can’t be as bad as Eugenia’s. Hers are 
terrible,” laughed Jane. “If you talk to her very long, 
she will try to prove to you that what is, cannot be, and 
what must be, will not be.” 

Sir Mortimer moved his chair a little, so that it more 
nearly faced Eugenia. Evidently, he was not afraid of 
Mrs. Wilbur’s pretty sister and her peculiar beliefs. 

The weary look in his eyes had lightened somewhat—a 
fact that Eugenia, philosopher though she might be, could 
not ignore. There was no denying the baronet’s good 
looks, good breeding, and little air of distinction, but she 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


7 i 


could see where he might thoroughly disgust a being as 
full of life and the excitement of living as the Devil 
Wolf. She fancied she could hear the boyish voice 
again, “Wait until you see him. You’ll know then, and 
once knowing, you’ll never forget.” 

Prejudiced in advance against Sir Mortimer, she now 
looked at him through the eyes of the merry-hearted 
bandit, and found the handsome face marred by the 
plaintive little droop of the finely-curved lips; by the 
look of utter world-weariness, of soul-sickness which one 
surprised in his eyes now and then; by the tiny wrinkle 
of pain in the high, white forehead. Not even the look 
of admiration which shone now in his eyes could lighten 
the dreary look of them. It was, Eugenia thought 
fancifully, as though he held his illness in check, forced 
it to confront the world and would not let it sink into the 
background even if it wanted to. 

“Do you find that the air of Willowlake agrees with 
you, Sir Mortimer?” she asked. “Jane has told me you 
were here for your health.” 

“Very much,” answered the baronet. “I have pur¬ 
chased a place here and will probably remain for the rest 
of my life—what little is left of it,” he laughed shortly. 

“I only came last night, but I like it already,” returned 
Eugenia, a little note of enthusiasm in her voice. “It 
seems a gay little town.” 

“I am only sorry I am not in a position to pass judg¬ 
ment on your last statement. My health will not permit 


72 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


me to mix much in the pleasures, of Willowlake, for I 
confess,” he laughed ruefully, “I find my own quiet room 
and comfortable sofa a satisfactory substitute.” 

A slight frown appeared on Eugenia’s brow, marring 
its white smoothness. Was ever anything more absurd! 
A man with nerves who lay on the sofa all day, probably 
staring up at the ceiling, and pitying himself. No 
wonder he was pale! The pallor which Miss Margaret 
admired as a symbol of aristocracy, Eugenia thought 
showed a lack of common sense. The Devil Wolf was 
right; Sir Mortimer Paige was impossible. 

The sound of an approaching motor was a relief. It 
was probably Arthur, she thought, and she could throw 
the burden of entertaining the guest on his shoulders. 
It was indeed the prosecuting attorney, but as the big 
black car rolled up the avenue and came to a stop beside 
the veranda, Eugenia sprang out of the porch swing with 
a little cry of alarm. 

Arthur Wilbur was a man of forty, large, well- 
proportioned, and every inch of him the brisk, alert 
business-man, although the plentiful brown hair already 
had a thin sprinkling of gray, and there were little lines 
around the somewhat cold gray eyes. He was still in the 
very prime of life and at the top of his profession. 

But at this moment, the briskness and alertness had 
vanished; his face was white and drawn and his eyes had 
a worried, harassed look. 

“Arthur, what is it?” cried Eugenia. 

Jane, just coming out of the house, heard Eugenia’s 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


73 

little cry of dismay, and came running to her husband. 
It was to her the prosecuting attorney turned. 

“The Bank of Mayfair, Jane!” he said in a hoarse, 
toneless voice. 

“Not another robbery, Arthur!” exclaimed Jane, hor¬ 
rified. “Was it the Devil Wolf again?” 

Wilbur sank wearily into a nearby chair and Jane, 
solicitude itself, drew his head down against her shoulder. 
She had never been ashamed of her love for her big 
successful husband, nor of showing it. 

“How did they know it was he, honey ?” 

“He bound and gagged the night watchman—he must 
be a man of fearful strength. The man gives the same 
description of him as the crew on the Creektown train. 
Oh, it was he, all right.” 

“Don’t worry so about it, Arthur,” soothed his wife. 
“He will be captured soon. He cannot go on like this 
forever. He is only human and must fall sometime.” 

“That is the crux of the whole matter,” cried the 
prosecuting attorney with a touch of horror in his voice. 
“He can’t be human. The night watchman says he— 
he just vanished. And the people are beginning to 
attack the sheriff and me; they say we are negligent.” 

“Arthur,” said Jane firmly, “don’t you think it is time 
to appeal to the Government for aid?” 

“Oh, we will have to, now, I reckon,” he said 
despondently. “Get me something to drink, Jane, will 
you ?*’ 

Jane scurried into the house on the wings of love, and 


74 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Wilbur turned to his guest. “I thought I could do this 
thing myself,” he laughed grimly, “but it has me bested. 
I will have to run like a whipped dog to the Government 
and ask for help to capture one man.” 

“I think it is the best thing to do,” agreed Sir 
Mortimer. “Then if he isn’t captured, the blame 
remains with them.” 

“That is one way of looking at it, I reckon,” rejoined 
Wilbur wearily. “Although we thought we could repeat 
our experience with Buck Anderson. We caught him 
after four weeks.” He turned to his sister and there 
was a ring of sincere regret in his voice. “Sorry your 
visit is spoiled by such a thing as this, Eugenia.” 

“But indeed I don’t mind, Arthur,”’ she protested 
earnestly. “I think it’s thrilling. I’ve lived in a 
college for four years and this is the first time I have 
ever been in a town that had a real live bandit.” 

“I am not so sure about his being alive,” retorted her 
brother-in-law. 

Jane returned bringing some hastily concocted lem¬ 
onade. 

“Doesn’t he ever leave a clue, Arthur?” she asked 
anxiously, as she filled a glass for him. 

“He has this time, although it doesn’t lead anywhere 
in particular. He dropped a handkerchief beside the 
safe. Maybe it was dropped on purpose to mislead us. 
We are dealing with a devil wolf, you know. We must 
distrust everything. It is a common linen handker¬ 
chief, but is not his own, for it is a lady’s.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


75 

“Mercy! Has such an abandoned creature a 
sweetheart ?” 

“Perhaps,” sighed the prosecuting attorney. “Or, it 
might be a blind. I don’t put any hope in it myself.” 

All this while, Eugenia had remained leaning against 
the veranda railing, her lips compressed, her clear young 
mind vacillating between two points like the pendulum of 
a clock. Loyalty to the Devil Wolf, or loyalty to her 
brother. Of course, she knew very little about him; 
still, she had talked to him for some while, and a word 
from her might put Arthur on the right track. She could 
tell much about his voice, his mannerisms, his figure; 
Arthur would have something to go on then, in place 
of absolutely nothing that he had now. It would only 
be a question of time, then, until the Devil Wolf was 
caught. She caught her breath suddenly. There would 
be a sensational trial and imprisonment—perhaps the 
gallows. She threw her head back with a decided little 
jerk. He had gone out of his way, risked his life per¬ 
haps, to bring her into Willowlake; she was a traitor 
even to think of betraying him. By the Curls of 
Bacchus, no! she thought, using one of his quaint oaths. 
She would let matters take their own course. She 
was sorry for Arthur but it was his task and the 
sheriff’s. 

“Is it possible to see the place of the robbery?” she 
asked her brother-in-law. 

“There isn’t much to see,” he answered wearily. 
“The broken vault, of course, and the handkerchief is 


76 


THE DEVIL WOI F 


still there, although I shall take possession of that 
myself later on. Beyond that, there is nothing.” 

“But I want to see it,” insisted Eugenia willfully. 
“Jane, come and go with me.” 

“Why, Eugen’a, how can you suggest such a thing, 
with Arthur needing my help the way he does?” There 
was wifely indignation in Jane’s voice. 

“Then I’ll go alone,” returned Eugenia with deter¬ 
mination. 

“You can’t, child, of course not.” 

Sir Mortimer rose gallantly. He had been leaning 
his head in a fatigued manner against the back of the 
chair, and with eyes closed, had seemed oblivious to the 
prosecuting attorney’s little tragedy. 

“My man is still waiting with the car,” he suggested 
to Eugenia. “If you would accept my company?” 

Eugenia hesitated. “I could not think of taking you 
that far; your health—?” she added with a touch of 
malice. 

“I would like to see the scene of the robbery myself,” 
ne protested. 

“Oh, well, under those conditions,” returned Eugenia in 
a relieved tone. “It won’t take me but a minute to get 
my hat.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


There were seven miles of improved rock road between 
Willowlake and Mayfair, flanked on either side by high 
corn fields, flowering meadows with little inland creeks, 
or rough woodland. Everything was in the rich bloom 
of early summer and to Eugenia it seemed incongruous 
that in the midst of a world so full of nature in her 
kindest mood, there should fall something so sadly 
human as a rifled bank vault. 

It was a sudden caprice that was sending her to May- 
fair to view with her own eyes the work of the Devil 
Wolf, though she mentally upbraided herself for the utter 
absurdity of it. She was no silly, impressionable young 
girl to be caught by the halo of romance that crowned 
the head of the bandit, though she was certainly acting 
like one. She had meant this summer to complete a 
dissertation on the Ritschlian theory of the value of judg¬ 
ments and now this silly romantic business had knocked 
all of the learned postulates out of her head. She found 
herself thinking of the Ritschlian theory with impatience 
and of the rifled bank vault with a thrill of excitement. 

At a remark from Sir Mortimer about the beauty of a 
bit of landscape, she pulled herself together, shocked at 
her own discourteous silence. She murmured a reply 
and managed to keep up her end of a more or less 
77 


78 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


desultory conversation until they reached Mayfair. 

They found the little town crowded with curious 
humans. Everyone within a twenty mile radius had 
come into town that morning and only one topic was on 
their lips, the bank robbery. Tottering old men grouped 
themselves in front of the country stores and discussed 
the greatest event of Mayfair since the massacre of 
General Custer’s army. Women with children clinging 
to their skirts stood on either side of their gates and 
gave, free and unasked for, their opinion of a govern¬ 
ment that would permit such a creature as the Devil 
Wolf to run at large. Groups of little boys discussed in 
secret admiration the exploits of the greatest hero since 
Jesse James and their little sisters did the same, minus 
the admiration. 

In front of the bank itself was the greatest excitement. 
Here were the young men of the town, loudly setting 
forth their ideas, hinting broadly that the town officials 
were an irresponsible, hair-brained set who knew every¬ 
body’s business but their own. 

Sir Mortimer’s chauffeur, a young negro named Ranse, 
and who, Eugenia thought, seemed quite absurdly fond 
of his employer, pursued his tortuous way through the 
crowded streets. At the door of the Bank of Mayfair, 
he brought the machine to a stop and Eugenia and Sir 
Mortimer alighted. They were the target for many 
envious comments as they showed the prosecuting 
attorney’s card and were admitted, after some slight 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


79 


difficulty, into the bank itself, a policeman accompanying 
them to the vault. 

“There really isn't much to see," he said apologetically, 
“that is, nothing beyond the vault and the handkerchief." 

“At least, we will see what there is to be seen," said 
Sir Mortimer heavily. 

At the bank vault, they found a group of those citizens 
of Mayfair, prominent enough to be permitted entrance. 
It was in this group that Eugenia spied Miss Margaret 
Wyeth leaning on the arm of a young man whose face 
was turned away from them. On seeing Eugenia with 
Sir Mortimer, she rudely deserted her companion and 
attached herself to Eugenia. 

“Isn’t it exciting?" she whispered with a little giggle. 
“I know I ought to be out getting votes for your sister, but 
Jerry and I just had to come and see. The bank officials 
are furious and so is Papa. He has money in this bank. 
They are all holding a mass meeting in the directors’ 
room right now, and they are going to make a determined 
effort to capture him, Papa says. The bold creature 
actually let the watchman see him open the vault, did 
you know that?" 

Sir Mortimer, with dull surprise lighting up his weary 
eyes for a moment, turned to Eugenia. “Mr. Wilbur 
didn’t tell us that," he said slowly. 

“We were just hearing about it when you came in." 
Miss Margaret wheeled and searched the crowd. “I can’t 
see the man who was telling us. Yes, there he is. 


8o 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Officer!” she called, her shrill girlish voice rising above 
all the confusion of the crowded bank. At the sound of 
her voice, the young man on whose arm she had been 
leaning, came forward. 

“What’s the matter now, Maggie?” he asked laugh¬ 
ingly. 

“I had forgotten you, Jerry.” She turned and 
grasped his arm. “Here is Sir Mortimer, and, Miss 
Appleton, I would like to have you meet my brother, 
Jerry O’Neil.” 

Eugenia extended her hand to the young man and 
looked into the handsome young face of the ne’er-do-well 
for a moment. In that instant, she made her decision. 
Here before her stood the Devil Wolf. There was no 
doubt in her mind. Here were the gay black eyes with 
their hidden wells of laughter and youth and his voice 
held in it the same inimitable boyishness that had 
attracted Eugenia in the outlaw. It was just for a 
second that their eyes met but in that second, Eugenia 
fancied she read something there besides the mere 
twinkle of youth and humor, although he bowed over 
her hand as though they were total strangers. 

“Here he comes now,” cried Miss Margaret. “Here, 
officer!” She gestured to the man with the pretty willful 
authority of a petted only daughter of a prominent 
citizen. “This is the night watchman,” she explained 
in an awed voice. “He was bound and gagged by the 
Devil Wolf! Isn’t it terrible?” 

Eugenia looked at the man and felt a wild desire to 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


81 


laugh. He was a huge, burly Irishman, weighing only 
a few pounds less, she judged, than two hundred, and 
the thought of the slender youth beside her overpowering 
him was ludicrous. Something of the same sort seemed 
to occur to Sir Mortimer. 

“The Devil Wolf must be a giant,” he said thoughtfully. 

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, he ain’t,” said the man 
emphatically. “ ’Tis just a slip of a lad I could crush 
with my fist. Why didn’t I crush him, you’d be thinkin’ 
now. But how can you crush what you don’t know is 
there ?” He looked around triumphantly as though con¬ 
scious of having asked an unanswerable question. 

“Begin at the beginning,” commanded Miss Margaret 
and the man obeyed. 

“ ’Twas just twelve o’clock,” he said impressively, 
gratified at the expectant crowd around him, which had 
gathered immediately when it learned that once more he 
was to recite his thrilling tale. “ ’Twas just twelve 
o’clock—” 

“The hour at which the devil is known to roam the 
earth,” murmured Jerry gravely. 

“And ’tis right you are,” assented the watchman. 
“There was I eatin’ the bit lunch that the Missus gives 
me, never suspectin’ a thing, you might say—” 

“ ‘They dreamed not of danger, those sinners of old,’ ” 
quoted Jerry. 

“Do be still, Jerry,” commanded his sister. “You 
aren’t the least bit funny.” 

“And yet ’tis right the lad is,” grinned the man, “for 


82 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


never a thing did I know of anything wrong until a 
rope settles around my arms; and before I could so 
much as yell, there’s a towel twisted in my mouth and 
there am I, trussed up like a chicken, and a bit of a 
slender boy in front of me, laughin’ fit to choke himself.” 

“Laughing?” echoed Miss Margaret. 

“He was that, miss. ’Tis a thing you’d not be 
expectin’ to find in a Devil Wolf. Then he opens the 
vault, and ’tis not an expert he is at it, either; I’d say he 
was but learnin’ myself.” 

“If he does things like this when he is just learning,” 
exclaimed someone in the crowd, “God help Willowlake 
after he has learned!” 

“Amen to that, sir!” said the watchman. “But after 
a while, for all his fumbling, he got the vault open and 
then he takes the money out of it, and I lookin’ on, not 
able to help. But there’s one thing I’m givin’ him credit 
for. There’s no limit to the darin’ spirit of the lad, and 
he has courage all right, but,” his voice dropped to an 
awestricken whisper, “ ’tis courage that ain’t human!” 

Miss Margaret, with a horrified shriek, clung in pretty 
fear to Sir Mortimer’s arm. “We’ll all be murdered in 
our beds some night,” she cried. 

“Judging from the things he takes, Maggie,” laughed 
her brother mischievously, “he has more profitable crimes 
in mind.” 

He looked at Eugenia as he spoke and Eugenia fancied 
she read a hidden meaning in his merry black eyes. Any 
other criminal, she felt sure, would have feared to have 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


83 

another share his terrible secret, but here was no fear of 
any kind, or was his courage merely the knowledge that, 
after all, she could prove nothing? He was probably 
taking delight in mystifying her. At the thought, her 
head went back haughtily and for a small space of time 
she took no further notice of Jerry O’Neil, although she 
was conscious that his eyes followed her with a wholly 
admiring look. 

They inspected the bank vault with the lock of its 
heavy door systematically put out of business and were 
shown the compartments in which had rested the $3,000 
in gold and currency that the Devil Wolf had taken un¬ 
lawful possession of. 

“It's a clean enough job,” loudly exclaimed one of the 
prominent citizens. “It’s funny to what awful danger a 
man will expose himself for the sake of money.” 

The remark set Eugenia thinking. She stole a shy 
look at Jerry O’Neil. He was standing, his hands in 
his pockets, his eyes fixed upon the yawning vault. On 
his lips was the queer smile of a man who knows much 
more about a thing than he cares to say. Had he done 
it for money, Eugenia wondered, or had he some other 
motive? The Devil Wolf, both the man she had met in 
The Hills, and the man who stood now beside her with 
that knowledgeful smile on his lips, had not impressed 
her as one who might commit a crime for money’s sake, 
but rather for the crime’s own sake. It was the over¬ 
coming of difficulties that drew him irresistibly on. If 
there had been thirty guards instead of one in the bank 


84 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


that night, it would only have spurred him on the more. 
And he would have rifled the vault, Eugenia was sure 
of that, even in the face of thirty watchmen. 

“And now come and see the handkerchief,” cried Miss 
Margaret. “It is over this way.” 

Jerry’s energetic shoulders cleared the way for them 
to the table on which stood an overturned goldfish bowl. 
Under this bowl lay a crumpled handkerchief, and guard¬ 
ing the table, the bowl, and the precious thing it con¬ 
tained, was a stout policeman, with a not very pleasant 
countenance. 

“That is the only clew we possess,” stated Jerry im¬ 
pressively. “I wouldn’t want to be the Devil Wolf when 
his sweetheart asks him what became of it.” 

Eugenia gave one look at the crumpled bit of linen 
and all her philosophy forsook her. She felt herself 
the leading personage in a wild impossible dream, for the 
handkerchief lying under the glass bowl was her own. 

It had probably fallen out with the vanity case and he 
had made no mention of it in his note. She preferred 
not to think why he had made no mention of it. 

“Now, I am going to tell you something,” came the 
coarse strident voice of a man on the other side of the 
table. “The initials on that handkerchief are E. H., 
aren’t they? Well, in my opinion, all they have to do 
is to find some woman with the initials E. H. and then 
put her to the third degree. All criminals slip up at last 
and here is where the Devil Wolf has slipped up.” 

Eugenia closed her eyes for a moment and thought 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


85 


again of the anaemic, sickly little girl of seventeen, a 
student at Dearborn College, who had given her the 
handkerchief. She had loved Eugenia Appleton with all 
the love of a weak nature and the handkerchief was a 
Christmas present to the beloved teacher of philosophy. 
But the girl’s hands, unaccustomed to embroidery and 
shaking with nervousness, had spoiled the monogram, 
which had assumed a somewhat shaky appearance. The 
two sides of the A had been improperly closed and could 
readily be mistaken for an H. Let them search for their 
E. H. if they liked, she thought with amusement; they 
stood little chance of finding her. 

“Just think of any woman having such a terrible lever 
as the Devil Wolf,” said Miss Wyeth. “But isn’t it a 
little pathetic—his carrying her handkerchief around 
with him as a sort of mascot? Maybe,” she added hope¬ 
fully, “it was the good luck charm that has helped him 
to escape every time and now that he has lost it, he will 
be captured.” 

“More likely,” corrected Eugenia, “he used it to wipe 
his hands with. There are stains of oil on it.” 

“What makes you think that?” asked Jerry curiously. 
“I prefer Maggie’s opinion, myself. How about you, 
Sir Mortimer?” 

“I favor Miss Margaret’s opinion also,” agreed the 
baronet. “Miss Appleton stands alone in her rather 
unique interpretation of the incident.” 

“The matter is easily proved,” said Eugenia with a 
heightened color in her cheeks. She turned sparkling 


86 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


eyes on Jerry. “If the handkerchief is a talisman to the 
Devil Wolf, it will not remain long in the hands of the 
law.” 

“Why not?” asked Miss Margaret. 

“He will come back to get it,” Eugenia assured them. 
“A man who will brave the law to get what he wants, 
will not let his—er—his sweetheart’s handkerchief 
remain in other possession than his own.” 

“Perhaps you are right at that,” murmured Sir 
Mortimer. 

“It remains to be seen,” was Jerry’s comment. The 
twinkle had disappeared for a moment from the merry 
black eyes and his voice was earnest. 

“Oh, isn’t it romantic?” sighed Miss Margaret. 

“I think we have seen all there is to be seen here,” 
suggested Sir Mortimer. “Shall we go?” 

They edged their way again through the crowd to the 
door of the bank. Miss Margaret and her brother ac¬ 
companied them to the door of Sir Mortimer’s car. 

“Oh, Sir Mortimer, before you go,” asked Miss Wyeth 
suddenly, taking from her purse a bunch of white cards. 
“Will you sign one of thes’e? It is for the suppression 
of the dance halls at Willowlake. Jerry and I were 
starting out to work the factory district, but decided to 
come here instead. Your name will mean so much,” she 
added with sweet flattery, “for then I shall have no 
trouble getting the orders.” 

Miss Margaret had spoken in her high-pitched voice 
and the attention of the crowd was caught by her words. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 87 

Two flashily dressed girls stepped out from the throng 
and came close to the automobile. 

“Say, mister,” asked one in a coarse, wheedling tone, 
“you ain’t goin’ to sign that card, are you? Them 
dance halls ain’t doin’ anybody a bit of harm; they’re 
perfectly straight and open and above board. Say, yon 
know they are, don’t you?” she turned suddenly to 
Jerry. “You’ve been there; I’ve seen you.” 

Jerry’s face reddened slightly but he answered readily, 
“Sure, they’re all right, Clara. Don’t get so excited.” 

“Then why do you let her try to close them up?” she 
asked angrily. “You’re her brother, ain’t you, and 
you’re goin’ around with her,” she said. “She’d better 
keep away from the factory folks, that’s all I’ve got to 
say,” she hinted darkly. “She gives dances in her own 
home and that’s all right, ain’t it, but where can we 
dance if not in a public hall, and there sure ain’t any 
worse things goin’ on at the Butterfly and the Idle Hour 
than goes on right in her own house.” 

“My good girl,” began Miss Margaret with lofty 
dignity. 

“Don’t you ‘my good girl’ me,” screamed Clara. 
“You just stop tryin’ to get people to sign those little 
white cards. Don’t you sign one, mister,” she turned 
again to Sir Mortimer. “I know who you are. You’re 
that Englishman who’s supposed to be dyin’. Well, 
don’t you die with that on your conscience. If she gets 
your name, it’s just like she says, all the others will sign 
it. We’re so darn’ democratic here,” she sneered. 


88 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Don’t you sign it! All right, I’m cornin’, Mame; you 
don’t have to wink at me like that.” She followed her 
companion a few steps, but turned back again. “Don’t 
you sign it!” she begged Sir Mortimer. 

“The nasty, vulgar thing!” said Miss Margaret 
angrily. “As though we would pay any attention to her. 
It’s for the welfare of such ungrateful minxes as that, 
that we are working ourselves to death. Will you sign 
it, Sir Mortimer?” 

Sir Mortimer took the little white card and held it for 
a moment between his fingers. 

“Do you know, Miss Wyeth,” he said slowly, “I can¬ 
not help but feel that the girl was right. They have but 
few pleasures. Why take away one of them, especially 
one they seem to prize so highly?” 

“You surely don’t agree with her!” gasped Miss Mar¬ 
garet, shocked. 

“Drop the whole business, Maggie,” advised her 
brother. “You know I told you you women are going to 
get into trouble with that factory bunch down there if 
you are not careful. There is truth in what the girl 
says.” 

“Of course, you would take her part,” stormed Miss 
Margaret, careless of who might hear her. “You called 
her ‘Clara,’ didn’t you? A nice lot of friends you have. 
I shall not desert Mrs. Wilbur in this thing,” she added 
heroically. 

“Go ahead with it, then,” Jerry shrugged indifferently. 
“What do you think about the suppression of the dance 


THE DEVIL WOLF 89 

halls, Miss Appleton?” he turned to Eugenia with a 
laugh. 

“I haven’t seen the dance halls, so I am not a judge,” 
she returned lightly. “Probably the factory girls have 
but few pleasures. Jane should be a bit more reasonable. 
The dance halls are not hurting her!” 

“Mrs. Wilbur will say I have bungled the whole 
business,” answered Miss Margaret plaintively. In her 
large blue eyes, the tears were threatening to overflow. 

“I shall explain to my sister that you were not in any 
way to blame, Miss Wyeth,” said Eugenia sweetly. “I 
am sure she will understand that it was not your 
fault.” 

“Tell her I won’t be over tomorrow,” said the young 
girl tearfully. “Get off the running board, Jerry,” she 
added sharply. “Miss Appleton and Sir Mortimer wish 
to go.” 

Jerry obeyed with a suddenness that proved he had 
been deep in thought of something else. In fact, so 
sudden was his movement that his knee struck against 
the fender and the pain brought an oath to his lips. 

“By the—” he began and caught Eugenia’s laughing 
eyes. The oath was not finished. 

“Jerry! The very idea!” scolded his sister. “Where 
are your manners? What will Miss Appleton think?” 

“She will probably wonder what I was going to say,” 
laughed her brother nervously. 

It was so true that Eugenia blushed. What had he 
begun to say? One of his quaint oaths, perhaps, but he 


90 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


had cut it off in time and its identity was still a matter of 
doubt. 

“I hope I shall see you again,” murmured Jerry, as he 
shook hands with her. 

“We shall probably meet quite frequently,” she assured 
him kindly. “Jane is preparing quite a round of gaieties 
for me.” 

“And I am sure she would not invite you if she knew 
you call the factory girls by their first names,” warned 
his sister angrily. “Goodbye, Miss Appleton. I hope 
we are going to be good friends. Sir Mortimer, I 
forgive you even if you didn’t sign the card, but you had 
better make your peace with Mrs. Wilbur. She will be 
angry.” 

The two girls exchanged a warm handshake; the two 
men a rather constrained bow. 

“Miss Wyeth’s brother seems rather democratic in his 
ways, doesn’t he?” remarked Sir Mortimer when they 
were once more free of the throngs and on their way 
back to Willowlake. 

“It shows an excellent spirit on his part,” defended 
Eugenia. 

“A sad ne’er-do-well, I understand.” 

“He takes it lightly.” 

At the warm tone of voice, Sir Mortimer turned and 
favored his companion with a puzzled look. Eugenia 
caught the look and tilted her head defiantly. Philo¬ 
sophically indifferent, she didn’t care what Sir Mortimer 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


9i 

thought. Jerry O’Neil, at least, did not flaunt his nerves 
in people’s faces. He had no nerves. 

The ride home was made in the same silence as the ride 
to Mayfair. 

Once, though, Eugenia laughed softly and Sir 
Mortimer turned to her with a questioning look. 

“I was just wondering,” she explained lightly, “how 
long the handkerchief will remain in the hands of the 
law.” 

Sir Mortimer shrugged his shoulders wearily. Evi¬ 
dently he was not interested in the love affairs of anyone 
so vulgar as the Devil Wolf. 


CHAPTER SIX 


The day after the Mayfair affair, Arthur Wilbur 
wearily gave up the fight, swallowed his pride and wired 
the Government for aid, which was promptly furnished. 
In a few days, two picked men arrived—Roberts, a huge, 
blond man of middle age, with an assertive air; and 
Gray, a man in every way his opposite: small, much 
older, with dark hair more or less streaked with gray, 
and a quiet, almost timid manner. There was nothing 
about either to indicate their sinister profession, for 
Roberts, with his blustering manner, was like a schoolboy 
out of school, and Gray’s shrinking timidity gave no 
hint that behind the shy brown eyes the mind worked 
with the precision of a well regulated clock. 

The prosecuting attorney welcomed them with quiet 
satisfaction. Now that the matter lay in the State’s 
hands, he would no longer be blamed if the Devil Wolf 
ran at large. On Roberts’ huge shoulders and on Gray’s 
narrow ones would rest all the censure. 

They arrived early in the morning and that night a 
grave conference took place in the bright, many- 
windowed library of the Wilbur home. The members of 
the conference were the prosecuting attorney, the two 
State officers, and the county sheriff, an eager, confident 
young fellow in the early thirties. 

92 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


93 


“Understand one thing,” the prosecuting attorney said, 
leaning over the table and speaking impressively, “we are 
not dealing with an ordinary thug who steals for the sake 
of the yellow gold. The Devil Wolf breaks the laws 
because the laws are there to be broken. He steals a 
thing because we lock it up and put guards around it. 
A heap of gold in the open street, unguarded, would not 
tempt him, but as soon as we put it in a steel vault and 
station guards around it, he risks his life to take it. His 
courage is amazing, abnormal. Nothing daunts him. 
We can give him no name; we do not know who he is. 
He might rub against our elbows any time in the street; 
we might be inviting him to our homes to meet our wives 
and daughters, and our women-folk may be accepting 
his escort to social affairs. He might be, for all we can 
tell to the contrary, the minister who preaches from our 
pulpits and exhorts us to virtue, or the doctor who comes 
to our bedside to administer to our bodily ailments. He 
may be the bank president who pays us interest on our 
money or the beggar on the street who holds out his 
hand for alms. We cannot be sure of anyone.” 

“Has anyone been suspected?” asked Gray shyly. 
There was something so incongruous in the shy voice and 
the grim topic under discussion that Wilbur shuddered. 

“Three or four of our young men have been suspected 
from time to time but definite proof was lacking. 
Besides, just as soon as we had thoroughly convinced 
ourselves of his guilt, a robbery would be committed 
while he was in the company of reputable citizens and 


94 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


so, of course, we would let the matter drop. It was 
almost as though the Devil Wolf were watching and 
laughing at us—as though he let us go as far as we 
liked in our suspicions, and then saved the man in 
question by committing another depredation when an 
alibi could be satisfactorily established.” 

“How did he come to get the name of the Devil 
Wolf?” demanded Roberts roughly. 

The prosecuting attorney passed one white hand nerv¬ 
ously over his forehead. “I don’t know where the 
name originated, but it came in use after the Creektown 
train robbery, some months ago. One of the guards on 
the train claimed he saw fire and smoke issue from the 
bandit’s nostrils and from the nostrils of his horse. 
The man was badly frightened and probably imagined 
things, but he swears to his statement. Anyway, the 
name clung to him. It is the only name we have to call 
him by. The name is appropriate,” added the prosecut¬ 
ing attorney quietly, “for there are those of us who no 
longer believe the man is human.” 

“In that case,” Roberts’ smile was a bit skeptical, “I 
would suggest that you call in the clergy. We Govern¬ 
ment men deal only with live malefactors.” 

“Gentlemen,” the prosecuting attorney’s voice had 
assumed a sudden sharpness. “I have noticed that only 
those who have never had any experience with the Devil 
Wolf joke about him.” 

“Don’t you think,” asked Gray timidly, “that it would 
be rather difficult for such an immaterial thing as a 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


95 


spirit—granting that he isn’t human—to drag away 
$3,000 in currency as he seems to have done from the 
Mayfair Bank?” There was nothing of impertinence, 
merely grave questioning, in his tone. 

“I am not trying to explain anything the Devil Wolf 
does, Mr. Gray.” 

“Tut, tut!” blustered Roberts. “We are not children 
listening to a fairy tale. We are here to investigate a 
criminal matter.” 

He turned abruptly to the young sheriff, who all this 
time had stood silently beside the table. “Let’s hear all 
the details of the Creektown train robbery. How did it 
occur, and where?” 

“Creektown is a little watering station about seven 
miles north of here,” answered the sheriff eagerly. 
“There is a nasty curve around the embankment and the 
trains have to slow up. In fact, they don’t any more 
than just creep around that curve; it is so tricky. He 
rode up on a black horse, and if you could see that horse 
now— It might have been sired by Satan himself; it 
looks that devilish. There were two guards on the train 
beside myself and the train crew, six men in all. It was 
an easy thing for him to do; the train was just creeping 
along. The whole situation invited him. He took 
away our guns and made us bring out what he wanted; 
then he rode away. It was just child’s play for him.” 

“Do you mean,” cried Roberts angrily, “that six men, 
three of them with guns and one of them a sheriff, 
obeyed one man?” 


o6 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


The young sheriff flushed haughtily at the half-open 
sneer in the angry tone. “I am not a coward, and it 
wasn’t just the gun he pointed at us—there was some¬ 
thing else. He—he—laughed.” 

The three men stared incredulously. Roberts and the 
prosecuting attorney seemed speechless. Gray broke the 
silence. 

“What was the matter with his laugh that it frightened 
six men?” he asked, still with the manner of a modest, 
retiring child. “Was it because there was no mirth in 
his laughter?” 

“No, it was because there was,” answered the sheriff 
desperately. There was a half-shamed look on his face. 
“He laughed as though he were happy, childishly happy. 
When a bandit springs out at you in a lonely place like 
this was, wearing a mask, and riding a hell-bred horse, 
you expect a few curses and ugly threats, but you don’t 
expect him to laugh at you. I think it was that that 
paralyzed us.” 

“How did he laugh?” asked Gray patiently. 

“Like—like as though he found something funny in 
the situation, sir.” The sheriff threw out his hands 
with a little gesture of resignation. “I can’t describe 
what made us yield to him; something in his awful un- 
nameableness, in the long cloak he wears that hides even 
his figure, in the black mask with the fringe falling over 
his mouth and chin, and—and—his laugh. If you could 
once hear it, sir—” 

“Would you recognize the laugh, if you heard it in 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


97 


someone not wearing a long cloak and a black mask?” 

“What—what do you mean?” stammered the sheriff. 

“In other words,” said Gray in his small, quiet voice, 
“You have heard it somewhere else. Who is there in 
Willowlake that laughs like the Devil Wolf?” 

The sheriff's face flushed a deep crimson. He looked 
at the prosecuting attorney as though in search of 
assistance. “Why, it is—it seems a terrible thing to say 
about a young fellow when you haven’t any proof, and 
I haven’t really recognized the laugh, you know; but it 
was just as though it were an echo of it.” 

“Who is the young man, sheriff?” asked Wilbur ex¬ 
citedly, “and why have you never said anything about 
him?” 

“I haven’t had any proof, Mr. Wilbur. I have been 
doing a little scouting on my own hook, but I can’t prove 
anything.” 

“Well, who is it?” demanded Roberts. 

“Jerry O’Neil, Mr. Wyeth’s stepson.” 

“Mr. Wyeth, owner of the copper mines?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Roberts showed his astonishment in a long whistle; 
Gray, with an almost frightened look, traced with his 
finger the heavy embroidery of the table cover. 

“Where was he when the robbery was committed?” 

“No one knows, sir.” 

“Have you inquired?” 

“Not too openly,” returned the sheriff apologetically, 
“for fear of arousing suspicion. It is just like Mr. 


98 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


jWilbur says; as soon as any accusation was publicly 
made, something would be done when the man was in the 
midst of prominent citizens and then we would have to 
start all over again. I have done the best I could. It 
was just the same when the other affairs were pulled off. 
I couldn’t trace O’Neil’s movements. I can’t prove that 
he is the Devil Wolf and I can’t prove that he is not.” 

Roberts nodded appreciatively, “I want to go over all 
this with you again, but let it rest for the moment.” He 
turned to the prosecuting attorney. “You said something 
about a handkerchief being found beside the vault at 
Mayfair. The initials were E. H., were they not? 
You have it here?” 

Wilbur rose, went over to his small safe in one corner 
of the room, and brought out the small linen handker¬ 
chief, soiled with grease. 

“It is the only clew we have,” he said as he threw it 
on the table in front of Roberts, who took it up, 
examined it carefully and then tossed it over to Gray. 
The little detective spread it out, fingered the monogram 
a few moments, and then said shyly, “Your Devil Wolf 
loses part of his supernatural qualities when we know 
that one person at least has looked upon his face.” 

“She may not be his sweetheart,” warned the prosecut¬ 
ing attorney. “We must not take too much for 
granted.” 

The little detective shook his head sadly as would one 
whose heart was heavy with the sins of the world. “A 
man with a woman’s handkerchief can always be trusted 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


99 


to do foolish things.” He tossed the handkerchief to 
Roberts who picked it up, saying, “I will keep the thing 
for the present.” 

“So?” asked a quiet voice behind them. 

Startled, the four men who had been bending closely 
over the tiny bit of soiled linen, sprang from their chairs 
and faced the long French window which led out to the 
veranda, and which had been silently opened. 

Leaning negligently against the casing, but not so 
negligently as to mar the steadiness of the hand holding 
the ugly looking gun that seemed to cover all four of 
them at once, was the Devil Wolf. The long black cloak 
that hung from his shoulders was thrown back, reveal¬ 
ing, as though he scorned all subterfuges, the slender 
figure clad in its nondescript garments. 

There was something so debonair in the carelessness 
of his posture, in the suave politeness of the mono¬ 
syllable, that one would never have thought that here 
was a criminal, entering of his own free will, the 
presence of the men sent many miles for the express pur¬ 
pose of capturing him. 

There was absolute silence for a few moments, in¬ 
spired—to their credit be it said—not n o much by fear of 
the outlaw’s presence and the gun he carried, as by un¬ 
conscious admiration at the careless courage betrayed by 
the figure leaning negligently against the casing. The 
silence which seemed long and which in fact lasted only 
a few seconds was broken 6y the Devil Wolf’s affable 


voice. 


IOO 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“At the risk of seeming vulgar and common,” he 
said with a deep sigh of regret, “I am forced to remind 
all of you that this thing I have in my hand is a gun. A 
gun,” he went on in the manner of a teacher trying to 
bring the light of wisdom to a class of particularly dull 
pupils, “is something that will kill—if the one who holds 
it has that intention. While it would no doubt cause 
me much pain to kill any of you, at the same time, I 
would feel no hesitancy at all about taking that step 
should any of you gentlemen feel an overwhelming desire 
to reach for any weapon you may be carrying. I trust 
that with this little explanation,” he concluded brightly, 
“you will see fit to grant any little request I might make 
of you.” 

There was another moment or two of silence, broken 
this time, not by the polite voice, but by a ringing laugh, 
long, loud and mirthful. 

“By the Spear of Athena!” swore the Devil Wolf. 
“Evidently, from the look on your faces, you didn’t 
expect to have something to report so soon to the Govern¬ 
ment, and I will wager the contents of any bank within 
a fifty mile radius that you don't report it!” 

Roberts was the first to find his voice. “What do you 
want here?” he demanded. “Money?” 

“What a mercenary wretch you must think me!” 
sighed the Devil Wolf as though terribly pained at the 
realization. “I assure you there is something I value 
more than money—that handkerchief on the table, for 
instance. If you have examined it sufficiently,” he asked 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


IOI 


politely, “and have now extracted from it every clew 
to my identity that it might contain, may I request you 
to return it?” 

The detective made no movement to comply. 

“There really isn’t any hurry,” hinted the Devil Wolf 
sweetly. 

Again there was an awkward silence. The four men 
knew scarcely how to handle the situation. The only one 
who had a weapon was the sheriff—and he was nearest 
the uncompromising muzzle of the Devil Wolf’s gun. 

“Gentlemen,” came the bland tones from behind the 
black silken mask, “the handkerchief is a talisman from 
a lady. It is true the age of chivalry has passed, but 
there is not one of you who has not at some time en¬ 
shrined in his heart the portrait of a member of the 
opposite sex. You will realize the predicament I will 
be in if I return to her—minus her favor. As one 
gentleman to four others, I request the return of the 
handkerchief.” 

Silence on the part of his listeners. The handkerchief 
still lay, a crumpled heap of soiled linen, in the center of 
the table. No one made a motion to present it to the man 
at the window. 

“Then,” the tone of the Devil Wolf had changed sud¬ 
denly from polite courtesy to sharpness and his words 
were as icicles dripping poison. “Then,” he snapped, “I 
shall count three. One!” 

The slender figure had lost its drooping negligence, 
had straightened up, and the black eyes behind the silken 


102 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


mask were no longer bubbling with boyish humor, but 
were like two cold stars, heavy with fate. He was no 
longer merely a human being who had deserted the paths 
of righteousness, led away by an insatiate desire to 
acquire possession of what rightfully belonged to some¬ 
one else, but was a devil wolf, with bloody, dripping 
fangs and eyes sparkling with a baleful light. At his 
back, the four men could almost see Satan in his un¬ 
hallowed majesty and his grinning, mocking crew of 
mischievous imps. The air seemed heavy with the 
fumes of a terrible hell and was filled with the wailing 
of the tortured damned. 

“Two!” 

The shy little detective, Gray, made a sudden quick 
movement and caught up the bit of linen resting on the 
table. He held it out to the outlaw and said in his small, 
quiet voice, “Let me present you with—your property.” 

Roberts glared, but from the lips of the sheriff and 
the prosecuting attorney came the same shuddering sigh, 
as of those who have had a glimpse of the nether regions 
and are glad to have the curtain drop again over it. 

The outlaw unhesitatingly stepped forward, took the 
handkerchief from the outstretched hand of the little 
detective, kissed the bit of linen lightly, and placed it in 
an inside vest pocket, then turned upon them once more 
that look that was not the look of a human being, but 
of a wolf truly bred in the forest of Hades. Just as 
slowly as he had come, he now moved backward to the 
window still keeping the paralyzing gaze of his black 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


103 


wicked eyes upon them. When he reached the window, 
he flung its doors wide open and stood for a moment 
poised against the blackness of the night, seeming to fit in 
nicely with the general scheme of darkness and gloom. 
Then, with a quick movement, he leaped to the veranda 
and was gone. 

His disappearance broke instantaneously the spell 
which bound the four men, and with one accord they 
were at the window, flinging it wide so that the dark 
paths of the Italian Garden were made clear. But the 
Devil Wolf was nowhere to be seen. He had been 
swallowed up by the night, and not even a sound dis¬ 
turbed the stillness. 

The sheriff had drawn his gun, prepared to fire at the 
least sign of the enemy, but the prosecuting attorney 
struck it up nervously. 

“We must not let the town know of this/’ he pleaded. 
“Besides,” he turned to the two detectives, “you have 
seen him now and you will agree with me that there is 
no use firing upon him. He is not human.” 

Roberts chewed his lower lip in visible embarrassment, 
but Gray laughed. “Oh, he is human, all right, your 
Devil Wolf! No spirit, good or evil, would make the 
foolish mistake that he made tonight.” 

“What mistake was that?” asked his colleague. 

“He has showed us how much he despises us,” 
answered the little detective sadly. “And for his own 
sake, it was a dangerous thing to do.” 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


“But I can’t see what you can have against Sir 
Mortimer!” 

Jane’s tones were surprised and severe, as she looked 
down upon her sister. Her arms were folded across the 
frilly front of her lacy negligee, and one satin slippered 
foot tapped the floor impatiently. The personification 
of indignation, annoyance, and outraged patience, was 
Mrs. Wilbur at that moment. Eugenia was no longer a 
doll to be played with, but a younger sister to be dis¬ 
ciplined. 

Eugenia, engaged in certain manicuring operations, 
took the chiding as she took all things from Jane— 
amusedly, and with sundry wild appeals to her sense of 
humor. 

“I have nothing against him,” she explained, “except 
when you present him in the light of a future husband.” 

“Margaret Wyeth would be glad,” emphasized Jane, 
“if someone tried to arrange matters for her.” 

“Jane, you haven’t said anything to him, have you?” 
Eugenia started up with horror at the words “arrange 
matters.” “I will not be thrown at anybody’s head.” 

“Of course, I haven’t said anything to him, Eugenia,” 
soothed Jane, conscious of her poor selection of words. 
“I am not a professional matchmaker, but I do hate to 
104 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


105 


see Margaret Wyeth setting her cap for a man whom I 
consider an eligible husband for my sister. If you would 
only put forth an effort. You have always had any 
number of men at your heels, but now that a chance 
comes along for a really decent match, you refuse even to 
bend a finger to secure him.” 

“I don’t want him,” insisted Eugenia. “Why, Jane, 
the man is simply impossible. Over at the Fenwicks 
night before last, he made eight remarks to me and 
seven of those were about his ‘feelings’ and his ‘nerves.’ ” 
“Sir Mortimer is not well,” Jane reproved her with 
dignity. “Surely, some allowance can be made—” 
Eugenia looked up at her. In the clear brown eyes 
was a dim hint of scorn. “Suppose he is dying. Why 
doesn’t he take the sporting chance? What if his life is 
ruined by ill-health? Why need he drag it after him 
like a child might drag a thousand pound weight—and in 
full view of the public? He plays that illness of his to 
the gallery too much. He insists upon it; he never lets 
you forget it. He probably does it merely for the 
sympathy and adulation he gets. It is shameful the way 
you women pet him and idolize him because he is ill. 
I pity and sympathize with him in his state of health, but 
I am not going to worship him on account of it.” 

Jane held up her hands in meek resignation. “If I 
had thought seven years ago, Eugenia Appleton, that a 
Degree of Philosophy would have done this for you, rest 
assured you would never have taken it. This is the 
result of Greek philosophy.” 


io6 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“The old Greek philosophers have had nothing to do 
with my decision in regard to Sir Mortimer,” laughed 
Eugenia, “but I have no doubt they would agree with me 
if they knew about it.” 

“But for all the lofty attitude you take in regard to 
men, you can stoop to sit out two dances with a ne’er-do- 
well like Jerry O’Neil,” accused Jane sharply, “like you 
did at Marian Desmond’s party. Even Margaret Wyeth 
remarked upon it; and you had only met him twice. 
Eugenia, you are blushing!” 

In truth, at mention of Jerry O’Neil’s name, the color 
had flown into Eugenia’s cheek, but it was more a re¬ 
membrance of the outlaw of The Hills that brought it 
there, than thought of Jerry himself. She had long ago 
settled to her own satisfaction at least, that Jerry O’Neil 
was responsible for the bold robberies that were setting 
Willowlake topsy-turvy, for, though there was nothing 
she could accept definitely as proof, there was in Jerry’s 
gay, young voice the boyish ring that had charmed her 
in that shelter in The Hills; and in his black eyes some¬ 
times appeared the twinkle of youth and daring that had 
caused her to lose all fear of the ruthless outlaw. He 
had never given her a sign, but she was certain. 

“A ne’er-do-well,” continued Jane contemptuously, 
“who doesn’t even make a pretence of working, but who 
lives on a small inheritance from his father; not quite 
a match for Eugenia Appleton.” 

By this time, Eugenia was thoroughly aroused. “If 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


107 

you say another thing about marriage,” she threatened, 
“I will pack up and go home!” 

Jane, seeing her usually calm and placid young sister 
so excited, wondered if she had not better change the 
subject, but curiosity got the better of her judgment. 

“What can you see in Jerry O’Neil, Eugenia?” she 
asked despairingly. 

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Eugenia assured her hastily, 
“beyond the fact that he is a good talker, intelligent— 
By the way, Jane,” she hesitated a moment, “have you 
ever heard him mention the old Greek gods?” 

Jane stared at her sister as though in fear that she had 
suddenly been bereft of her senses. 

“Of all the questions— Why, what in the world 
possesses you to ask that, Eugenia ?” 

“Oh, nothing, but does he?” 

“I have heard him swear the oath, ‘By Jove!’” 
answered Jane freezingly. “All young men do that. 
They consider it smart, I suppose. I really don’t under¬ 
stand you, Eugenia.” 

Before Eugenia could answer, the little Irish maid, 
Katie, appeared in the doorway with a little silver card 
tray. 

“Margaret Wyeth and Miss Cartright,” read Jane to 
whom it was proffered. “They have come about the 
list of votes, I suppose. Tell them I will be down in a 
moment, Katie.” 

“Excuse me to them, will you, Jane?” asked Eugenia 


io8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


hurriedly. “I have letters to write this morning.” 

“I suppose they are too important to wait until this 
afternoon,” hinted Jane sarcastically, traces of anger still 
to be heard in her voice. 

“Now, that’s too unfair of you, Jane!” protested 
Eugenia. “You asked me to take those things from the 
Ladies’ Aid to the poor widow with the six children 
this afternoon, and I thought I would write the letters 
this morning, for Sir Mortimer calls for me at two 
o’clock. He is to accompany me, you know.” 

Utterly mollified by the mention of Sir Mortimer’s 
magic name, Jane hastened to dress and go down to greet 
her guests. 

“My sister has some very important correspondence to 
attend to,” she informed the two ladies, “so you must 
really excuse her. Margaret, is that a new gown? You 
look perfectly lovely, child. Miss Cartright, we all did 
so much enjoy your playing last night at the church; it 
was really wonderful.” 

So, having put her guests thoroughly at ease with an 
adroit compliment calculated to reach the weakest spot 
in the heart of each, Jane plunged into business. 

“I suppose both of you have your lists all filled out, 
haven’t you?” 

“I have mine here,” responded Miss Cartright, not 
without an accent of pride. “There are ninety names 
in my district and I have everyone of them.” 

“You have done nobly, Miss, Cartright!” cried Jane 
enthusiastically. “Nobly! I believe I can almost state 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


109 


definitely now that the dance halls are a thing of the 
past as far as Willowlake is concerned. My own list 
is not entirely complete as yet; I have been so busy; and 
I believe Mrs. Parsons has one or two names yet to get, 
but otherwise, we are all ready. Margaret, did you 
bring your list 

Miss Wyeth brought her collection of white cards out 
of her tiny handbag and extended it silently to her 
hostess. 

“You have a fine list of names here,” said Jane ap¬ 
provingly, “but,” she scanned the cards hurriedly, “but, 
Margaret, child, where is Sir Mortimer’s name? Did 
you get it?” 

“I did not!” replied Miss Margaret with emphasis. 
“Didn’t your sister tell you about Sir Mortimer’s rude¬ 
ness? She said she would.” 

“Eugenia? Not a word! What about Sir Mor¬ 
timer’s rudeness? I did not know he could be rude.” 

“Well, he can,” snapped Miss Margaret. “He refused 
to sign.” 

“Refused?” both the other ladies cried in unison. 

“There must be some mistake,” added Jane. “Sir 
Mortimer has always been in sympathy with our cause.” 

“Well, he isn’t,” returned Margaret shortly. 

“What happened?” asked Jane worriedly. 

“It was when we were over at Mayfair, the day of the 
robbery. I asked Sir Mortimer for his signature, and 
just as he was about to sign it, two of the worst looking 
and vulgarest factory girls came along, and one of them 


no 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


—and she was the worst looking of the two—begged him 
not to sign it. Just think of her accosting a strange 
man that way! And, of course, Jerry had to chime in. 
He actually called the vulgar, painted thing by her first 
name. He called her Clara. Yes, he did, Mrs. Wilbur! 
She said a lot of terrible things and Sir Mortimer refused 
to sign the card.” 

“I can’t understand it,” mused Jane. “He has always 
seemed so much in accord with our work. Of course, 
we don’t really need his signature. Still,” she sighed, 
“the name of Sir Mortimer Paige would have had great 
weight with the commissioners. He has bought property 
here and is really a citizen of Willowlake.” 

“I hear,” hinted Miss Cartright darkly, “that the fac¬ 
tory people are getting up a petition of their own to coun¬ 
terbalance this one, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they 
tried to get him to sign it. Since he refuses ours, there 
is a chance he will give his name to them.” 

She was gratified at the effect of her dark prognosti¬ 
cation, for Jane looked up quickly, a worried pucker on 
her forehead. 

“I shall speak to him at the first opportunity, and if I 
can accomplish nothing, I shall try and persuade Eugenia 
to talk to him about it, although,” she sighed, “it is so 
hard to get Eugenia interested in the subject of the sup¬ 
pression of the dance halls. She thinks we should aban¬ 
don the project.” 

“It is not the only radical idea your sister has,” sniffed 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


hi 


Miss Cartright, who had not yet forgiven Eugenia for 
her remark on the occasion of their first meeting. 

Miss Margaret’s daintily slippered foot traced a pattern 
on the Persian rug. “Do you think your sister has any 
influence with Sir Mortimer?” she asked Jane. 

Jane glanced at the pretty face of the young girl in 
front of her, and with true feminine malice, decided to 
give her something to worry about. It was all her fault, 
the little minx, that Sir Mortimer had refused his signa¬ 
ture. Jane had no doubts about that at all. Of course, 
Sir Mortimer knew how she was setting her cap for him. 

“Influence! My dear, it isn’t the word!” she said, 
sinking her voice to a confidential whisper in order that 
no sound of it might reach the floor above. “He would 
do anything for her. If you could see the way he fol¬ 
lows her with his eyes; it is the first time since he came 
here that I have seen him take an interest in anybody.” 

“Has Sir Mortimer—” Margaret hesitated at the 
word. 

“My dear, I expect it any day. He is over here almost 
daily, and you know that before Eugenia came, exertion 
of any kind was a torture to him. He is coming this 
afternoon and they are both going to see that poor Mrs. 
Baumgarten. I consider,” she added, giving the young 
girl opposite a final definite stab, “that Eugenia is as good 
as engaged.” 

Jane, having cut off the head of the fair enemy, Miss 
Cartright unconsciously proceeded to hack the limbs. 


112 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“They say your brother Jerry is also smitten with Mrs. 
Wilbur’s sister,” she remarked to Margaret. 

Margaret rallied her forces at the assault. “Oh,” she 
said contemptuously, “Jerry always falls in love with 
every pretty girl he meets. He even calls the factory 
girls by their first names, and this Clara wasn’t even 
pretty.” 

“I would have you know, Margaret Wyeth,” cried 
Jane with asperity, “that my sister is something more 
than just ‘a pretty girl.’ ” 

Margaret saw the two red spots which always appeared 
in Jane’s cheeks when she gave way to anger, and thought 
best to mollify the older woman. Jane, who ruled Wil- 
lowlake, was not an agreeable enemy. 

“I only meant that it is no great compliment to your 
sister to have such a man as my brother tagging at her 
heels; but what,” she added, bringing the conversation 
into safer channels, “are you going to do about Sir Mor¬ 
timer? If those factory people find out he has not signed 
our list, they will try to get him for theirs. Why not 
get Mr. Wilbur to talk to him? Men have a way with 
each other, sometimes.” 

“Oh, Arthur hasn’t time for such things now,” ex¬ 
claimed Jane impatiently. “What with those detectives 
here and the search after the Devil Wolf—” 

“Have they discovered anything as yet?” asked Miss 
Cartright with a sniff. “They have been here a week 
and I have failed to hear of where they have made any 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


113 

progress. Except for their cowardly behavior in that 
disgraceful affair of the handkerchief, I can’t see what 
they have done. And even that, as you know, they tried 
to keep quiet, and if it hadn’t been for the sheriff, we 
would never have known that the man was so outra¬ 
geously bold as to come into this house for his sweet¬ 
heart’s handkerchief.” 

“They wouldn’t tell anyone if they did make any prog¬ 
ress. They were talking to Papa day before yesterday 
the longest time, and I asked them if they had discovered 
anything and they just laughed. For all we know, they 
might have him spotted.” 

“Arthur thinks he is a man in the upper ranks of so¬ 
ciety,” said Jane. “Wouldn’t it be terrible if it proved 
to be someone whom we had invited into our homes? 
Since the night a week ago when he came into this very 
room, Arthur has changed his opinion of him.” 

“I think it was so romantic of him to come back,” 
sighed Miss Margaret. “Just think! There aren’t 
many men who love a woman well enough to walk into a 
trap just for such a little thing as a handkerchief. He 
could have asked her for another. It is just like in the 
days of chivalry. It would be sweet to have a lover like 
that; though, of course,” she added virtuously, “one 
would not want him to be a thief.” 

“More than likely, he did it just to show off,” sneered 
Miss Cartright, who had no patience with Miss Marga¬ 
ret’s youthful ecstasies. “He probably knew those de- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


114 

tectives were no braver than any of the men we have 
around here. Why, the men are getting to be just like 
children where this outlaw is concerned!” 

“It is because they don’t know who he is,” explained 
Jane. “The unknown is always more terrible than the 
thing we do know.” 

“If I had been there,” responded Miss Cartright em¬ 
phatically, “I would have torn that mask from his face 
and found out who he is.” 

“In spite of his gun, dear?” asked Jane mildly. 

“Hm,” said Miss Cartright. 

She rose to depart and Margaret did likewise. 

“Well, all I can say,” said the latter, “is that I hope 
they get him. I would like to know who he is.” 

“And I,” said Miss Cartright stiffly, “would like to see 
him hanged.” 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


Mrs. Baumgarten’s tiny four-room house lay just at 
the foot of the low, crouching Hills. The house seemed 
to have imbibed some of their secretiveness, for, being 
without foundation of any kind, it sank into the ground 
as though, like they, wishful to escape notice. Each 
room had been separately added at one time or another, 
giving it a flyaway appearance, and here and there patches 
had been put on with a careful hand. 

The yard was trodden smooth by childish feet, though 
there were still traces of two pitiful attempts at flower 
beds. A couple of struggling geraniums and a pansy 
plant or two, still retained some signs of life. In lieu of 
a walk, a cinder path led up to the wide porch, supported 
by two little piles of brick. 

In one corner of the yard, an appletree, from its ap¬ 
pearance a blood relation of the barren, straggling trees 
on The Hills, extended one hospitable branch at just the 
right altitude for a swing. This swing, made of many 
different kinds of rope knotted together, was just now 
the bone of warm contention. 

Nathaniel, aged twelve, blond and blue-eyed, was en¬ 
gaged in letting “the old cat die out,” a process which was 
taking longer than seemed absolutely necessary to his 
younger sister Meta, a rosy, chubby little maiden of ten 


116 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


years, who had John, aged seven, Rudolph, aged four, 
and the little two-year-old Lisbeth, to back her up in all 
her arguments. 

‘T am going in to tell Mama,” she said peremptorily, 
'‘You’ve had more than your hundred. And you know 
what she will say.” 

‘‘Tattle-tale, tattle-tale!” jeered the youngster in the 
swing. Evidently, he had not really thought that Meta 
would go, but upon seeing her walk determinedly up to 
the porch, he abandoned his position with a yell of de¬ 
fiance. 

“All right, you can have it!” 

Meta, with a triumphant laugh, came back, and taking 
little Lisbeth in her lap, took her turn in the old swing. 
The two younger boys, knowing the determined charac¬ 
ter of their sister, and seeing their turn a thing in the 
distant future, now that “the girls” had the swing, de¬ 
cided it was better to follow Nathaniel than to hang 
around the old appletree. 

In a few moments the three boys returned, Nathaniel 
in the lead. 

“A big, red automobile is coming,” he called to Meta, 
all enmity forgotten. “They have lots of packages, and 
I just know it’s for us. They always bring us 
packages.” 

Meta set little Lisbeth on the ground and all five hung 
upon the front gate. 

Sir Mortimer’s big red machine stopped in front of 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


ii 7 

the little gate and Eugenia, arms laden with bundles, 
descended first. Sir Mortimer, equally burdened-, fol¬ 
lowed her more slowly and turned to give a direction or 
two to the chauffeur. 

"Is your mother home?” asked Eugenia, smiling at 
the grinning faces. 

'‘Gee, ain’t she pretty?” said John, aged seven, in an 
audible whisper, and Eugenia laughed at the compliment. 

“Yes’m, Mama’s in,” replied Meta officiously. “Do 
you want to come in ?” 

“I am afraid I will have to,” said Eugenia. “I have 
some things for her from the ladies at Willowlake.” 

Nathaniel sprang to open the gate and Eugenia went 
up the little cinder path to the house. Sir Mortimer 
lingered behind and distributed various small coins 
among the children. 

Mrs. Baumgarten, hearing the voices of strangers 
mingling with those of her offspring, came to the door to 
greet her visitors. She was a little woman, bustling and 
energetic, with straggling blonde hair done up in a tight, 
uncompromising little knot on the top of her head, and 
brave blue eyes that betrayed a heart willing to take up 
the burden of widowhood and carry it as far as possible. 

“Ach, mein Fraulein und mein Herr!” she courtesied 
with old-fashioned foreign grace. “It is good of you to 
come. You will come in and rest a while, nicht wahr?” 

“But, of course, we will,” replied Eugenia who had 
taken an instantaneous liking to the little widow with her 


n8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


care-worn face. “It was my sister’s, Mrs. Wilbur’s, 
turn to come today, Mrs. Baumgarten, but she couldn’t 
do so. I am Miss Appleton.” 

“And the gentleman?” Mrs. Baumgarten indicated Sir 
Mortimer with a look. 

“Sir Mortimer Paige,” said Eugenia quickly. 

Sir Mortimer bowed and Mrs. Baumgarten courtesied 
again. 

“The bundles contain, for the most part, clothing for 
the children, Mrs. Baumgarten,” explained Eugenia, as 
she noticed the widow glancing curiously in that direc¬ 
tion. “There is also a ham and a side of bacon, I believe, 
and some candy. I hope the clothes will fit.” 

“I am thankful,” the widow assured her. “The ladies 
of Willowlake have been very good to me since my 
Adolph died, and left me with six children—those five out 
there,” she nodded in the direction of the open door, “and 
the little Gretel, who is only three months old. They 
are very good to me, jawohl, even though I do not go to 
any of the churches in Willowlake.” 

“Don’t let that worry you,” advised Eugenia compos¬ 
edly. “I don’t go, either.” 

“So?” In Mrs. Baumgarten’s keen blue eyes lay a 
question. 

“Miss Appleton is a philosopher, Mrs. Baumgarten,” 
explained Sir Mortimer, speaking for the first time. 

“A philosopher?” echoed their hostess, looking from 
Eugenia to Sir Mortimer and back to Eugenia again. 
“Is that true, mein Fraulein?” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


1 19 

“I teach philosophy,” explained Eugenia. 

The remark seemed, for some reason, to plunge the 
little widow into abstraction. Eugenia said a few things 
regarding the work of the Ladies’ Aid in Willowlake, 
but Mrs. Baumgarten seemed scarcely to listen. At a 
direct question from Eugenia, she started, and rose nerv¬ 
ously, fingering the worn gingham apron around her 
waist. Eugenia looked at her in astonishment and Mrs. 
Baumgarten grew embarrassed. 

“Mein Fraulein, I beg your pardon,” she apologized 
nervously. “I have been thinking.” She looked again 
at Sir Mortimer, who had sunk down into the comfort¬ 
able old rocker. His weary eyes were half-close^ and 
he seemed conscious of nothing but an overpowering 
fatigue. Mrs. Baumgarten sank her voice to a low 
whisper. 

“Mein Fraulein, I would like to say something to 
you alone. Der Herr da, he will excuse us, nicht 
wahr?” 

Sir Mortimer was on his feet in an instant. “Of 
course, Mrs. Baumgarten,” he said hastily. Then, turn¬ 
ing to Eugenia, “I will wait here.” 

Mrs. Baumgarten led the way into the bedroom in 
which the tiny Gretel slept the deep sleep of a three- 
months old baby. She dusted a rocker with the old 
apron and offered it solicitously to Eugenia. The young 
lady took it, wondering much what all this portended. 
Her companion seated herself at the bottom of the bed 
and leaned forward. 


120 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Mein Frdulein, you say you are a philosopher, nicht 
wahr?” 

“Why, yes, Mrs. Baumgarten,” answered Eugenia. 
“That is, I teach it.” 

“My Uncle Hermann, who lived in Leipsic, er war 
auch philosoph; he was also a philosopher,” said Mrs. 
Baumgarten proudly. “It follows then that you would 
think as he did on all subjects, nicht wahr?” 

“Oh, no,” laughed Eugenia. “There are different 
schools of philosophy, you know, and philosophers have 
different opinions.” 

“But upon certain points, like what is wrong, maybe, 
and what is right, you would agree with him, nicht 
wahr?” persisted the little woman. 

“If I could know what the question is,” said Eugenia 
guardedly. 

Mrs. Baumgarten leaned farther forward and her 
voice sank to a lower whisper. 

“Suppose then, mein Frdulein, that you were like my¬ 
self, a poor widow, whose husband died, leaving you with 
five children, small ones, you see, and one like the little 
Gretel here, and suppose that the ladies of the church had 
helped you out as your sister and the other ladies have 
done to me, but suppose there was something that no one 
knew, that the house you lived in had,—how shall I say 
it, mein Frdulein —a big debt on it, a mortgage, nicht 
wahr, and you did not like to say anything to them about 
it; and suppose you sat up at night worrying, worrying 
about how to pay the six dollars which must be paid each 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


121 


month, and then suppose there came someone—someone 
who was bad, perhaps, and wicked, and who was hunted 
by the law and suppose he threw into your lap the six dol¬ 
lars and said, ‘Each month you shall have the six dol¬ 
lars,’—say, mein Fraulein, it would not be right to betray 
him to the law who was hunting him, would it?” 

The color had flown into Eugenia’s cheeks and the 
hands lying loosely clasped in her lap trembled a bit. 
Her companion did not notice it, but asked the question 
again. 

“What would you say, mein Fraulein? Suppose the 
law-men come to me and say, ‘Do you know anything 
about this person, Mrs. Baumgarten?’ What am I to 
say?” she asked excitedly. “Am I to betray him or to 
say, ‘No! Of him I know nothing.’ ” 

“What would your Uncle Hermann have said, Mrs. 
Baumgarten?” asked Eugenia. “For I can see now that 
that is the reason you have told me this. You think that 
being a philosopher, I will advise you just as he would 
have done?” 

“Ach, Uncle Hermann!” sighed the widow. “I do not 
know what he would have said. Yes, that is the reason 
I asked you, mein Fraulein, because you and he, both of 
you, are philosophers, so it follows that you would think 
alike. So whatever you tell me, I will think that my 
Uncle Hermann speaks.” 

“Mrs. Baumgarten, I do not know what school of 
philosophy your Uncle Hermann followed, but I am sure 
—sure ” she emphasized with an excited little laugh, 


122 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“that in this we would think alike. There is no more 
terrible sin than that of ingratitude. It was not men¬ 
tioned in the Ten Commandments because it was too 
terrible even for the mouth of God to utter!” 

The little widow clapped her hands delightedly. “It 
is as though my Uncle Hermann spoke to me, mein Frau- 
lein. Who shall say that philosophers do not think alike ? 
Now, I shall tell you all about it and you will tell me what 
to do, nicht wahr?” 

The worn look had vanished' from the tired face and 
the blue eyes sparkled with childish glee. 

“It was one dark night, a month after my husband 
died. The little Gretel was only three weeks old, for she 
was born after he died, jawohl. I was sitting there by 
the kitchen table, thinking, thinking, about those six dol¬ 
lars which must be paid every month, and about some¬ 
thing else. The ladies of the church had been here that 
day and had advised me to do something—something 
that was hard to do, mein Fraulein. They said I must 
give up some of my children. Ach, Gott! How could 
I do that ? Give up my little Meta, who is like a sunshine 
in the house; give up my little John, or my Rudolph, 
who is so like his father, or the little Lisbeth? The 
house would be empty, mein Fraulein, empty! Yet, I 
think, what am I to do? 

“Then there is this debt on the house—this debt that 
no one knows about. When the ladies came to me after 
my Adolph died, and said to me, 'Mrs. Baumgarten, 
what do you need?’ I am too much ashamed to say to 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


I2 3 


them about the six dollars a month on the house. And 
it must be paid the next week. My Adolph was always 
ashamed to be in debt that way. Yet how could we help 
it when Nathaniel was ill and needed so much of the med¬ 
icine, and then when my little Lisbeth came, Ach, Gott! 
I was ill, mein Frdulein, but my Adolph is a strong man. 
He says, ‘Bertha, we will pay the debt off in a year or so, 
ja / But how were we to know that already the Herr 
Gott had marked him and when the shaft falls in the 
mine, it is my Adolph who is killed. There were men 
in the mine who were not married and had no wife and 
children, but, no, it is my Adolph who must die. 

“And now there are the six dollars a month and they 
say I must give my children away. It is too much. I 
cry, I wring my hands, I say to myself, ' ’Sist zu viel!* 
Der Herr Gott has given me too much to bear. I feel 
that my head will burst, that I will go mad with thinking 
about it; and in the room beside me, the six little ones 
sleep. They do not know about the six dollars a month; 
they can sleep. But I, I sit at the table and wring my 
hands. 

“The hours go by; pretty soon it is two o’clock, and 
still I do not see how I can pay those six dollars and still 
keep my children. And I feel that I cannot give them 
up, mein Frdulein; the house would be too empty.” 

At the memory of the agony of that night, Mrs. Baum- 
garten wept again, and Eugenia wiped her own cheeks 
with the back of her hand. In the pathos of the story, 
she had forgotten all about the Devil Wolf, for in- 


124 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


stinctively, she had known that the “bad, wicked one,” 
whom Mrs. Baumgarten referred to, was the Devil Wolf. 

“All at once,” continued Mrs. Baumgarten, “there 
comes a knock at the door. Well, mein Fraulein,” she 
said simply, “all the men of my family have been 
soldiers, jawohl, and I have the courage in me, also. I 
am not afraid. I say to myself, Tt is someone who is 
lost; who has wandered around in The Hills and cannot 
find his way.’ So I called out, ‘Who is it?’ I am not 
afraid, you see, but one should not open the door until 
one knows. Tt is a friend, Frau Baumgarten,” says a 
man’s voice. At once, I am reassured. No one calls 
me Frau around here and it sounds good to my ears. 
Besides, there is something in the voice, a laughing 
something; I cannot explain it, mein Fraulein, but it is 
as though behind it all was a merry heart, the heart of a 
jester, maybe, jawohl ” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Eugenia breathlessly. 
“That is,” she caught herself up hastily, “I have heard 
such voices. Go on, Mrs. Baumgarten.” 

“Anyway, there is that in the voice that says to me 
I need not fear,” continued the little woman gravely, 
“so I draw the latch, and open the door. Then I almost 
faint, for he is a horrible looking thing with his long 
cloak and the heavy black mask. ‘The Devil Wolf!’ 
I whisper, for I am too frightened to scream, and try 
to shut him out, but he comes in. He is stronger than 
I am, mein Fraulein, and he comes in. I tremble with 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


125 

fright; my father and my brothers were soldiers, jawohl, 
but I am frightened. 

“He walks right over to the table, and puts down, one 
right after the other, six silver dollars. I look at them 
with surprise; I do not understand, but he says to me in 
the voice with the laugh, ‘Frau Baumgarten,’ he says, 
‘It is true I am the Devil Wolf, but the money on the 
table there, which you will pay the loan company next 
week, is not stolen. It is honest money; you can take 
it; and every month there will be six more dollars. I 
pledge it to you, and they will none of them be stolen.’ 

“I start to cry; it is such a relief, and I am no longer 
frightened, nein, for there is that in his voice— He 
does not wait for my thanks, but goes. He says, 
' Aufzviedersehen / to me and goes; and I hear him laugh 
as he mounts his horse and gallops off into The Hills.” 

“Did he ever come again?” asked Eugenia in a low 
voice. 

Mrs. Baumgarten nodded. “He comes to me often 
and brings me money,” she explained simply. “Mein 
Fraulein , with the little bit of sewing that I do, I could 
not keep the children, even with the help the ladies give 
me. There are six of them and they demand much. He 
brings me money and tells me to tell the ladies it conies 
from my brother and I tell them that. So they let me 
keep the children. I tell you all this, mein Fraulein , 
because you are a philosopher like my Uncle Hermann; 
you will tell me what to do. He is like a big son to me; 


126 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


he calls me Miitterchen.” She was frankly weeping 
now as was Eugenia also; there was something in the 
lonely little tale— 

“And now come the men who inquire after him,” con¬ 
tinued the little woman indignantly. “They ask me all 
kinds of questions. They say I live near The Hills, 
have I ever seen him? And I lie, mein Fraulein, I lie 
much. They question my children, but my children 
have never seen him, so they tell the truth, but I—I 
lie.” 

“It is right to tell the lie,” Eugenia assured her. “He 
is good to you and you must not betray him. But, Mrs. 
Baumgarten,” she laid one soft white hand on the 
widow’s worn one, “have you never tried to get him away 
from this life? It is so dangerous!” 

“So hab’ ich ihm gesagt,” the little woman nodded. 
“I have told him that, yes, but he laughs and says he 
enjoys being hunted by the law men. They are so 
stupid, he says. ‘But sometime they will catch you,’ I 
tell him, ‘and then they will hang you.’ But he shrugs 
his shoulders and laughs and says, ‘Frau Bertha, let us 
talk about the little Gretel.’ Or when I keep on talking 
about it, he says, always with surprise, ‘Frau Bertha, 
why do you care so much about my being hanged; I am 
only a thief, you know, hunted by the law?’ And I can 
not answer him, mein Fraulein, for I do not know. It 
is true he is a thief; I should betray him to the law; 
I should not let him in the house; yet, what can I do, 
mein Fraulein? It is not for the money’s sake; even if 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


127 

he did not bring me the six dollars every month, I would 
still let him come in, black mask and all; for there is that 
about him, in his voice, mein Franlein, and in his eyes, 
that makes one care whether he is hanged or not. I 
would weep for him if he were caught and hanged; I 
do not know what it is, but it is worse now when he is so 
sad all the time.” 

“Sad?’" echoed Eugenia. “What about?” 

“Mein Fraulein,” whispered the little widow myste¬ 
riously, “I do not know, but it began the night we had 
the big storm. Maybe you were not in Willowlake then. 
Ach, Gott! That was a storm! It was the night when 
he brings to me the second six dollars. He was late 
and I wondered much. At last, I hear the knock and I 
let him in; and immediately he comes in, I see that some¬ 
thing is wrong, but I cannot tell what it is. He does 
not talk so much, but sits by the kitchen table and is 
silent. All at once, he says to me, ‘Frau Bertha, have 
you ever seen Diana, who was goddess of the chase, cen¬ 
turies ago in Greece?’ 

“Mein Fraulein, my Uncle Hermann knew all about 
the old gods, and told me much about them, so I know 
what he is talking about. So I say, ‘No, have you?’ and 
he says, ‘Yes, she was in The Hills tonight. I shared 
my cloak with her. I had always thought of Diana as 
having brown hair and dark eyes, but I was mistaken, 
Frau Bertha. She is red-haired, with eyes like two 
brown stars, and she is afraid of nothing.’ That is all 
he would ever say about her, mein Fraulein, but, Ach. 


128 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Gotti I know the sadness which has fallen upon him,” 
she sighed, “I have loved also my Adolph, and—” 

Eugenia rose with a hasty little movement. For no 
apparent reason, she took the worn face of the little 
widow between her hands and kissed the thin cheeks. 
“Mrs. Baum—Frau Bertha,” she corrected herself, “if 
you will permit me, I am going to come often to see you 
and—and the little Gretel.” 

“But, of course, mein Fraulein,” agreed Frau Bertha 
eagerly. “Always I shall be glad to see you, and I 
thank you for telling me what I have done is right. 
Now when the law men come, I shall know what to say. 
I shall lie; Oh, but I shall lie— schrecklich!” 

Eugenia laughed and pressed her hand warmly. “In 
this case, to lie is right,” she said firmly. 

“Ach!” cried the widow delightedly. “You speak just 
like my Uncle Hermann!” 

Together, they went out into the kitchen, where Sir 
Mortimer still sat in the rocker, his head resting wearily 
on the back of the chair. The noise of their footsteps 
aroused him, however, and he rose to his feet. 

“We have kept you waiting a terribly long time,” 
apologized Eugenia guiltily, “but what Frau Ber—Mrs. 
Baumgarten had to say was so interesting.” 

“I was glad of the rest,” he answered simply. “A ride 
always disturbs my nerves and it is so quiet here—” 

He stopped abruptly, for John had entered and stood 
before him, with one outstretched chubby, grimy hand, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


129 

in which lay a moist coin. There were tears in little 
John’s eyes and the childish voice trembled. 

“The candy store man said it wasn’t any good,” he 
explained to Sir Mortimer. “He—he said he couldn’t 
take it.” 

The baronet stooped and took the coin from the little 
hand. He inspected it closely and then looked up at 
Eugenia. For just an instant, a smile banished the 
weary look on the white face. 

“I gave him a Canadian coin,” he laughed, and 
Eugenia caught her breath. Of a truth, she thought, 
Sir Mortimer was good-looking, and she could see how 
an impressionable young girl like Margaret Wyeth would 
become enamored. 

Sir Mortimer replaced the despised coin in his own 
pocket and brought forth a good American five-cent 
piece. “The candy store man will take this,” he assured 
the little one. 

Again the smile of singular beauty lightened for a 
moment the heavy features. 

“Did the children thank you, mein Herr?” asked Frau 
Bertha timidly. She stood rather in awe of Sir 
Mortimer, but like the women of Willowlake, had been 
caught by the almost effeminate beauty of the baronet. 

“Your little Meta thanked me in the name of all of 
them,” he assured her. 

“He is the Englishman, nicht wahr,” whispered Frau 
Bertha to Eugenia as the two lingered for a moment 


130 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


after Sir Mortimer had gone, “whom all the ladies of 
Willowlake made such a—a—how you say?—such a fuss 
over?” 

“He is,” answered Eugenia grimly. 

“He is very good to look at,” said the little widow 
wistfully, “but sickly, ja?” 

“More imagination than anything else, I think, Frau 
Bertha. Think of a man with nerves!” 

“He has no nerves!” 

It was only too evident whom Frau Bertha meant, and 
Eugenia laughed. 

By this time, they had reached the little gate that 
Nathaniel officiously opened for Eugenia. Sir Mor¬ 
timer was waiting beside the big red machine which the 
smaller children were examining curiously. 

Eugenia took her seat in the car, and Sir Mortimer 
stepped in beside her. 

Mrs. Baumgarten courtesied to the baronet, but 
offered her work-worn hand to Eugenia who clasped it 
warmly. 

“I shall come again,” she whispered. 

“The little widow must have had many complaints to 
make to you,” Sir Mortimer remarked lightly, 
when once they were out of sight of the little white 
house. 

“She made no complaints,” answered Eugenia com¬ 
posedly. “We had a rather interesting chat about,” she 
laughed softly, “about a point of philosophy, and she 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


131 

also told me what a friend of hers told her one of the old 
Greek goddesses looked like.” 

She vouchsafed no explanation, and Sir Mortimer, 
either not enough interested, or too weary to inquire 
further, dropped the subject. 


CHAPTER NINE 


It was about a week later that Eugenia, “The Three 
Musketeers’’ in one hand and a green silk parasol in the 
other, opened the little iron gate of Jane’s Italian Garden 
and took her way up the lovely little lane through which 
she and the Devil Wolf had driven on the memorable 
night of the storm. Now it was not a water-filled gully, 
but a flower lined road, overhung by the friendly 
branches of old trees, and wheel-rutted. 

She had made her escape in hopes of avoiding Sir 
Mortimer’s daily afternoon visit, something Eugenia 
was beginning to find irksome. It was not so much the 
mere fact that Jane was so openly anxious to form a 
match between the two, as Sir Mortimer’s own disposi¬ 
tion. In a tete-a-tete with the baronet, it was Eugenia 
who had always to keep the ball of conversation in the 
air, instead of letting it roll away into a corner as it 
would certainly do if left to Sir Mortimer. 

Eugenia had one day, out of sheer absurdity, kept 
strict account of Sir Mortimer’s utterances, and took the 
record triumphantly to Jane. 

“Seventy-three words in one hour, Jane,” she declared 
disgustedly. “One might as well hold a conversation 
with a clothes dummy.” 

“Perhaps he doesn’t talk as much as some men,” Jane 
132 


THE DEVIL WOLF 133 

acknowledged. “Not as much as Jerry O’Neil, for 
instance.” 

“There are other statistics,” interrupted Eugenia 
airily. “Of the seventy-three words, four of them 
were, ‘nerves,’ two were, ‘indisposed,’ three were ‘tired,’ 
and one was the word, ‘headache.’ ” 

“Eugenia, you wretch!” laughed Jane in spite of her¬ 
self. “I don’t believe a word of it; he isn’t that bad, I 
know. Margaret Wyeth would give five years of her 
life if Sir Mortimer would even speak that much to her. 
She wouldn’t care about his nerves, nor his indisposition, 
if only he would accord her the privilege of calling her¬ 
self Lady Margaret. You are just angry because he 
doesn’t make love to you like Jerry O’Neil.” 

“I hope I am above such childishness, Jane,” Eugenia 
rebuked her sister. 

“Above fiddlesticks!” was the older sister’s inelegant 
retort. “You are just as much a woman as any of us.” 

“Of course,” mused Eugenia with unphilosophical in¬ 
consistency, “one would like to be wooed now and then 
in the orthodox fashion.” She was thinking of the 
night before at Margaret Wyeth’s party. Jerry O’Neil 
knew all there was to know about that particular form 
of orthodoxy. 

“But even though Sir Mortimer’s lips may not say 
much,” Jane remarked with emphasis, “his eyes are dis- 
coursive enough.” 

It was this last remark that Eugenia was thinking 
about as she stole up the little lane. Of a truth, Sir 


134 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Mortimer’s eyes had taken on another look these days. 
It was not that the weariness was not there—the world- 
pain that seemed to lie in their depths; it was just that 
these things seemed to vanish from his eyes for a moment 
when they rested upon Eugenia, and Eugenia, having 
been a woman many years before becoming a philoso¬ 
pher, had noticed the look; and it was’ the reason why 
she had stolen through the little iron gate this afternoon 
with “The Three Musketeers,” and a green silk parasol. 

She opened the book at random and read as she walked. 
It was a pastime she often indulged in around the nicely 
kept walks of the college campus and custom had never 
dulled the edge of its delight. She turned page after 
page of the book that charmed her as much at the age of 
twenty-five as it had ever done in her childhood, and she 
felt something slip from her: Jane’s petty ambitions, 
Sir Mortimer’s nerves, Jerry’s passionate love-making 
which had grown bold of late, even the Devil Wolf, 
though never far from Eugenia’s thoughts, faded al¬ 
most into nothingness. She was sharing in the famous 
breakfast on the bastion of La Rochelle, and nothing else 
in the world mattered. 

A stumble over a loose stone brought her back to earth, 
and she glanced around, to find that she had walked 
farther than she had intended. She recognized with a 
smile the little road that led to Frau Bertha’s house, and 
with sudden resolution, decided to go there and rest a 
while before returning home. She had left Willowlake 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


135 


behind her, and close ahead of her were the low sullen 
Hills, hugging themselves like black-browed conspirators. 
It was impossible to view those Hills without thinking 
of the gay, genial personality who made them his home. 
She was firmly convinced that in Jerry O’Neil she had 
found her philosophical “knight of the storm,” but yet, 
somehow, Eugenia herself could scarcely say how, they 
were different. It seemed to her that through the Devil 
Wolf’s being ran a deeper current. The gay banter of 
Jerry O’Neil was the gay banter of the Devil Wolf, yet 
from Jerry’s lips she had never heard even one sug¬ 
gestion of the gloomy skepticism that had wrapped him 
for a while when they rode together between The Hills. 
The laughing eyes of Jerry O’Neil were the laughing 
eyes of the Devil Wolf, yet in the black eyes of the Devil 
Wolf burned a clearer flame. The merry voice of Jerry 
O’Neil was the merry voice of the outlaw, yet in Jerry, 
it betokened the lightheartedness of a boy, while in the 
Devil Wolf it was the lightheartedness of a man who 
holds grimly to his youth and will not let it go. 

Were there two Jerrys, she wondered, or two Devil 
Wolves? It was a paradox which she unfortunately was 
not philosopher enough to fathom. 

Frau Bertha’s little cottage looked a comfortable rest¬ 
ing place after her long walk and once having it in sight, 
she hastened her steps. Frau Bertha’s bustling person 
was nowhere to be seen, and the yard was deserted, but 
from the road Eugenia could make out that the front 


136 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


door of the little cottage was open, so perhaps the little 
widow was within. 

Eugenia opened the little wooden gate and walked 
lightly up the cinder path. There was no sign of life 
anywhere; even the old gray cat on the porch slept the 
sleep of solitude and aloofness. No sound came from 
the kitchen, no rattling of kitchenware, no clatter of a 
sewing machine, no footsteps. The traditional silence 
of the tomb reigned over everything. It was just pos¬ 
sible, thought Eugenia as she lingered for a moment on 
the porch, that Frau Bertha had stepped over to some 
neighbor for a moment or so and taken the children with 
her, though the nearest neighbor was a good three 
quarters of a mile distant. Too weary to think of going 
back the long way without resting, Eugenia decided to 
enter the empty house and rest for a while. Frau 
Bertha, she was sure, would not care; otherwise, she 
would not have left the door so hospitably wide. 

She stepped across the threshold, sighing with deep 
satisfaction at the sight of the comfortable rocker 
drawn up to the door to catch the fresh breezes from The 
Hills; then, with a start of surprise and fear, found her¬ 
self looking down the barrel of a revolver held by a 
hideously steady hand. 

It was the Devil Wolf. Under one arm, he clasped 
the tiny form of the little Gretel, holding her head down¬ 
wards in a terribly uncomfortable position; in the other 
hand, he held the gun. 

At sight of Eugenia, however, he gave a low whistle 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


137 


of astonishment and dropped the weapon to his side. 

'T didn’t know it was you”; he apologized, “otherwise, 
I would not have given you such a warlike reception.” 

There was a keen sense of pleasure mixed with her sur¬ 
prise at finding him there; and Eugenia felt angry at her¬ 
self for feeling the pleasure. 

“For Heaven’s sake, put that gun away, and give me 
the child,” she laughed awkwardly. “You will choke 
her, holding her like that. Where is Frau Bertha and 
the other children? The place is absolutely deserted.” 
She took the little Gretel and smoothed out the tiny 
white dress rumpled by the unceremonious handling she 
had received at the hands of the Devil Wolf. 

“The children have all gone to a Sunday School picnic 
given by the ladies of the Methodist church,” he 
answered, “and Frau Bertha has gone into town. I 
offered to mind the baby. But,” he asked slowly, “how 
do you come to call her Frau Bertha?” 

“I—I—” stammered Eugenia. 

“The reason I asked,” he explained, pretending not to 
notice Eugenia’s confusion, “was that I thought I was 
the only one who called her that.” 

“It is a psychological possibility,” said Eugenia didac¬ 
tically, having had time to collect her thoughts, “for two 
people to happen upon the same idea.” 

“It has been known to occur,” he admitted gravely, 
although the knowing twinkle in the black eyes belied the 
gravity of the tone. Eugenia hastily busied herself with 
the tiny Gretel. The more she exposed her tell-tale face 


138 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


to the keen black eyes of the outlaw, the more she knew 
he would read there. 

“How long do you think Frau Be—Mrs. Baumgarten 
will be gone,” she asked. 

“How long does it usually take a woman to buy a 
three-months-old baby a pair of white stockings?” he 
asked easily. “Well, that’s how long she will be.” 

He swung himself on to the little white kitchen table 
and sat there, swinging his feet with rhythmic enjoy¬ 
ment. “Why are you in such a hurry for her to return ? 
Not afraid, are you?” 

“Of course not!” denied Eugenia. “But if someone 
should come—” 

“Well, you are not the one who is going to be hanged. 
It is hanging they have vowed to subject me to, if caught, 
isn’t it?” 

“It is,” laughed Eugenia, “and Jane says it is too good 
for you.” 

“The tender feelings of woman!” he groaned. “What 
have I ever done to her?” 

“You worry her darling Arthur.” 

By this time, Eugenia had settled herself comfortably 
in the deep rocker and was rocking to and fro, the little 
Gretel draped sleepily over one shoulder. She had re¬ 
moved her hat, and the red-gold hair caught the sunlight 
that streamed in through the doorway. The Devil Wolf 
looked at her and there was the light of appreciation in 
his dark eyes. Whether or not they consent to carry 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


139 


banners in a suffrage parade, to a man a woman is always 
the fairest when she holds against her cheek the soft 
cheek of an infant. To a man a woman at that moment 
is always beautiful; but when there is added a mass of 
red-gold hair glinting in the warm sunlight, eyes like two 
brown stars with mirth and dreaminess in their depths, 
and a mouth whose whimsical curves betray the price¬ 
less gift of a sense of humor, then she is indeed 
beautiful. 

The Devil Wolf, for all his life ran in unhallowed 
circles, was but a man and his eyes were caught by the 
beauty of it. 

“It won’t be long now that her 'darling Arthur,’ as you 
call him, will have to worry,” he remarked in reply to her 
last statement. “The two Government men are working 
hard.” 

“They are the more in earnest since you—” she stopped 
abruptly. 

“Since I took away from them the only clew they 
had?” he finished. “You surely could not think that 
having been fool enough to let them get hold of it, I 
would be cad enough to let them keep it?” 

“I assure you,” retorted Eugenia coldly, “that I never 
had any thought about it one way or the other, except 
to say that the handkerchief is mine and I would like it 
back.” 

There was a moment of silence in which nothing was 
heard but the little creak of the rocking chair. 


140 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“If I told you,” he said in a low voice, “that it has 
grown to be a good-luck charm with me, a talisman, a 
pledge, what you will,—” 

“In that case,” she answered hastily, “you may keep 
it. It is only a handkerchief, after all; but—” 

“The vanity case?” he reached into his vest pocket, and 
brought out the little silver thing. “You did not need 
to remind me of it.” 

She took it from him, and held it a few moments 
dangling from her fingers by its little silver chain. 
There was a smile on Eugenia’s lips, a smile that bespoke 
peculiar thoughts. 

“Of what are you thinking?” he demanded. 

“I was just wondering,” she answered slowly, “how 
many opportunities you have had to restore this to me— 
and have not used them.” 

“You think you have found me out?” he asked with 
his boyish laugh. 

“I am sure of it,” she said decidedly. She hesitated 
a moment, as though doubtful how her next words would 
be received, then said hastily, “It was an easy matter for 
me to discern the truth, and now that you have been so 
imprudent as to show yourself to these men, it will not 
be long before they discover the truth, also. That little 
man, Gray, who seems so shy and timid, is the one I am 
most afraid of. The other one blusters too much. It 
was a foolish thing to do—to risk discovery for a mere 
handkerchief.” 

“Don’t you ever do foolish things?” he pleaded. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


141 

“I try not to.” 

“Some people try not to do anything foolish, and others 
prefer being merely human,” he mocked. “But there 
are other topics more worthy of discussion than myself. 
As a subject of conversation, I am by no means inex¬ 
haustible. For instance, how are you and Miss 
Wyeth coming out in the race; still running neck to 
neck?” 

“She hasn’t a chance,” laughed Eugenia complacently. 

“I told you she wouldn’t have,” he rejoined. “Even a 
dying man can see the difference. Has he asked you 
yet ?” 

Eugenia shook her head. “But I expect it any day. 
That is,” with a slight laugh, “if he can forget his nerves 
long enough to propose.” 

“1 could forget the presence of the Angel of Death 
himself for that privilege!” he said earnestly. 

Eugenia looked up startled. 

“You’re right!” he laughed bitterly. “There is a 
wide difference between Sir Mortimer’s ultra-respect¬ 
ability, and myself.” 

“You don’t have to lead this life,” she protested. 

“You will marry Sir Mortimer, poor, frail scrap of a 
man that he is,” he went on, not heeding her interruption, 
“for the privilege of snubbing Margaret Wyeth, who 
would do the same to you if she had the chance. That 
is all the satisfaction you would get out of it. I forgot, 
though; there is a string of pearls. That makes two 
good reasons.” 


142 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“I have seen the pearls/’ defended Eugenia, “and they 
are lovely.” 

“If you want the pearls, but don’t want to marry Sir 
Mortimer to get them,” he said eagerly, “I’ll guarantee 
to get them for you.” 

Eugenia could not help laughing at the quick change 
from a man’s bitterness to the boyish eagerness. “You 
must not think of such a thing,” she protested. “You 
don’t suppose I would take stolen jewels, do you? And 
I am not going to marry Sir Mortimer,” she continued 
severely, “and if I were, it would certainly make no 
difference— Here comes Frau Bertha.” She rose 
hastily and went to the door. “But I wonder what is the 
matter ?” 

There was cause to wonder, for Frau Bertha, panting 
and white-lipped, rushed through the yard and into the 
sunlit kitchen. 

“Mein Fraulein, how do you come here? Ach, Gott, 
mein Herr, sie kommen, they are coming, they are com¬ 
ing! What shall we do?” 

“Calm yourself, Frau Bertha!” entreated Eugenia. 
“What is the matter?” 

“The two law men of the Government,” panted Frau 
Bertha. “They will be here in a few minutes. What 
shall we do? I ran all the way. Mein Herr, hide your¬ 
self quick! They will see you.” 

Eugenia looked from the frightened eyes of Frau 
Bertha, to the calm eyes behind the black mask. 

“Calm yourself, Mutterchen!” he said tenderly, placing 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


M 3 


a soothing hand on the shoulder of the frightened 
woman. “I shall hide behind the curtain here where 
you hang the clothes. It is probable they will not come 
in, but if they do, try and compose yourself.” 

“Yes, do that,” said Eugenia hastily, “and, Frau 
Bertha, you will be giving me German lessons. Com¬ 
pose yourself,” she begged, “and don’t look so fright¬ 
ened. They do not know that anyone is here.” 

She laid Gretel unceremoniously on the kitchen table 
and then helped to draw the thin calico curtains around 
the tall, slender form of the Devil Wolf. 

“Sink back among the garments,” she commanded. 
“Draw your feet back as far as possible, and don’t move, 
whatever they say or do!” 

Quickly she returned, picked up Gretel, and reseated 
herself in the rocker. “Now, Frau Bertha,” she com¬ 
manded, “you are giving me German lessons. It is 
what I have come for; don’t forget that. Hurry and 
begin; they are opening the gate.” 

Frightened until her teeth almost rattled in her head, 
Frau Bertha began tremulously, “Lieben is a verb of the 
first conjugation, mein Frdulein; what in German is 
called the weak conjugation. It goes so: ich liebe, I love; 
du liebst, thou lovest; er oder sie liebt, he or she loves; 
wir lieben, we love; ihr liebt, thou lovest; sie lieben , they 
love.” 

Hastily, Eugenia repeated the words, conscious at the 
same time of a subdued giggle from behind the curtain; 
Frau Bertha might have chosen some other verb. She 


144 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


repeated it in an unnecessarily high voice for the two 
detectives were already on the porch. Seeing Eugenia 
and Frau Bertha, they did not knock, but Roberts in his 
loud voice, greeted them. 

“How do you do, Miss Appleton?” Then with a less 
formal nod to Frau Bertha, “How do you do? We ran 
out of matches a few yards back, and thought perhaps 
you could let us have a few. I could get along with one 
cigar but Gray here smokes his innumerable cigarettes 
and refuses to light one from another.” 

“I will get them,” said Frau Bertha, rising hastily. 
She went to a shelf behind the stove and returned in a 
few moments, with a handful of matches. “Is that 
enough?” she demanded. There was no friendliness in 
her voice, for these were the enemies of the man hiding 
behind the calico curtain, a man who had come into 
Frau Bertha’s hour of loneliness and desolation and 
whom she loved accordingly. 

“Plenty, plenty,” assured Roberts. He reached into 
his pocket and brought out a coin or two. 

“No, no!” said Frau Bertha proudly. 

“Oh, come now!” said the big man with rude kindli¬ 
ness. “If your husband were living now, ma’am, it 
would be different, but it would not look well for men to 
be taking things from a widow. For her sake, then.” 
and he nodded toward the little Gretel, still resting com¬ 
fortably in Eugenia’s arms, and for “her” sake, Frau 
Bertha pocketed the coins. She sat down again con- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


145 

strainedly, waiting for them to go, but Roberts seemed 
in no hurry. 

“Taking German lessons ?” he asked Eugenia genially. 
“I thought you were a good patriot?” 

“I studied it in college years ago,” explained Eugenia, 
having no desire to irritate the man, “and Mrs. Baum- 
garten has kindly consented to correct my accent.” 

“Oh, I see.” 

Still they did not go, although there was no apparent 
reason for remaining. 

The conversation had all been conducted by the big 
detective but now Gray put in a timid word. 

“It is a wonderful view here that you have of The 
Hills,” he said shyly to Frau Bertha. “But aren’t they 
just a little—just a little depressing? They are not like 
other hills.” 

“My Uncle Hermann,” Frau Bertha forgot the little 
man was an enemy and smiled reminiscently, “would 
have said that evil spirits haunt those Hills, or dwell 
within them. My Uncle Hermann believed in fairies. 
He was a philosopher.” 

“Like Miss Appleton here ? She teaches it, you 
know.” 

“Just like the Frdulein here,” assented Frau Bertha 
firmly. 

“Your Uncle Hermann would have been about right, 
too,” laughed Roberts boisterously. “According to the 
town folk here, one evil spirit does haunt The Hills, 


146 THE DEVIL WOLF 

—the Devil Wolf. Never get a glimpse of him, eh, 
ma’am?” 

“Why do you always ask me that?” cried Frau 
Bertha a bit impatiently. “The Devil Wolf—perhaps 
he is what you call a great robber, but he goes after 
bigger things than he would find in a poor widow’s 
house. He knows that since my Adolph died,” the 
tears, born more of the tension of her frightened 
nerves than of grief for her husband’s death, began to 
roll down her cheeks, “there would not be much to rob in 
my house.” 

“Oh, come, come, ma’am,” soothed Roberts, with 
rough sympathy. “We did not mean that he came here, 
but thought perhaps you had caught a glimpse of him 
some night out in The Hills.” 

She shook her head, and wept, and Eugenia, forgetting 
all caution and moved by a malicious desire to annoy 
these two men, said sweetly, “Arthur is terribly annoyed 
over the loss of the handkerchief. It was rather bold in 
the Devil Wolf—” 

“I never blamed the man myself,” said Roberts 
frankly. “There was a time when I might perhaps have 
gone through as much to keep a pledge from my sweet¬ 
heart.” 

Eugenia squirmed in the rocking chair, and wished 
she had held her tongue. How the black eyes were 
probably twinkling behind the curtain! 

“Probably not a pledge from a sweetheart, so much as 
a mere desire to annoy Arthur and the sheriff.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


147 


“Maybe you are right,” said the big detective vaguely. 
“Hope you are wrong, though, for he will be easier to 
capture if we find a woman in the case. Come on, 
Gray.” 

The two men bowed politely and the women heaved an 
audible sigh of relief as the two detectives turned to go; 
but the sigh of relief quickly changed to terror as in 
going out they passed a little oilcloth covered table 
standing beside the door. On the table lay the Devil 
Wolf’s gloves. 

Eugenia had an unphilosophical desire to shriek and 
Frau Bertha turned pale. Roberts had not noticed them, 
but Gray, whose shy, timid eyes seemed to miss nothing, 
stopped and turned them over thoughtfully. His lips 
framed no question, but the bashful gaze asked it as he 
looked at Eugenia. But not for nothing had the young 
lady delved into abstruse problems of the old Greek 
philosophers. “A flying arrow at every moment in its 
flight is in a position of rest; the sum of states of rest 
cannot equal motion; therefore, the flying arrow does not 
move,” says Zeno. And after one has wrestled with 
things like that, a situation such as this is child’s 
ptey. 

“The gloves belong to Sir Mortimer Paige,” she ex¬ 
plained easily. “He came here with me last week and 
left them. I must not forget to take them back with 
me.” This last was to Frau Bertha. “I had better put 
them with my hat, now.” She rose, dumped the little 
Gretel, who had been much tossed about that afternoon, 


148 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


into Frau Bertha’s lap, and taking the gloves, deposited 
them on the brim of her hat which lay on a chair. 

At sound of Eugenia’s speech, Roberts returned, and 
he, too, seemed to sense Gray’s vague suspicion. 

“My friend and I,” said the little detective shyly, “are 
passing Sir Mortimer’s house this afternoon. It will 
save you the trip.” The timid eyes dared Eugenia to 
refuse. 

There flashed through Eugenia’s mind various pictures 
of Sir Mortimer and his languor, Sir Mortimer and his 
nerves, Sir Mortimer and his lifeless, colorless existence, 
Sir Mortimer and the new light almost of yearning, that 
burned sometimes in his eyes these days. He would not 
refuse a request from her, she knew. She could get to 
him probably before the detectives did and ask him to 
claim the gloves as his own. He would do it, she felt 
certain. 

All this passed through her mind in a second’s flash 
and at the end of that second, she had turned to Gray 
with a smile of gratitude. 

“I had intended to keep them until he called, but as you 
are passing that way—” she held them out to him almost 
defiantly. 

There was a word or two more of commonplaces, and 
then they were gone. 

Eugenia remained standing quietly behind the table 
until the two figures, the huge one and the slight one, 
vanished behind the bend in the road. Then she turned 
to Frau Bertha with nervous haste. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


149 

“I must go immediately,” she said. “I must see Sir 
Mortimer.” 

The Devil Wolf stepped out from behind the curtain. 
“I cannot permit you to take all that trouble for me, 
Miss Appleton.” 

“But they will take the gloves to Sir Mortimer and he 
will deny that they are his,” she cried. “I can telephone 
him from the nearest place and ask him to acknowledge 
them as his property. That will throw them off 
the track. I tell you that little man suspects some¬ 
thing!” 

“Ach, Gott!” cried Frau Bertha. 

“And you think Sir Mortimer Paige will do that with¬ 
out an explanation?” asked the Devil Wolf incredulously. 

“If I ask him to, yes,” answered Eugenia sweetly, 
not without a little conscious toss of the head. 

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” he shrugged his shoulders and 
added bitterly, “A man who is about to propose any 
day would not refuse the lady a favor. If he knew 
for whom the favor was asked—. By the way, why do 
you ask it?” 

The direct question confused Eugenia a trifle, but she 
saved herself by pertness. “Some men ask a woman 
questions and others prefer to hear the truth. If 
you must have an answer, I do it out of common 
humanity.” 

“Common humanity, eh?” he mused. “I hate to hear 
you say that, Miss Appleton, for I confess I am of the 
group of men who prefer to hear the truth.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


150 

Eugenia showed her offence by turning her back upon 
him and addressed Frau Bertha. 

“I am going to hurry back to town to try and get to Sir 
Mortimer before they do.” 

“You will try and make matters right, mein Fraulein?” 
asked the little widow wistfully. “We would hate, you 
and I, to see him—” 

“If it’s hanged you mean, Frau Bertha, I am not sure 
that I would hate to see that occur. You hear how he 
talks to me.” 

(( Mein Fraulein ” asked Frau Bertha puzzled, “have 
you met him before ?” 

“Once,” answered Eugenia airily. “It was the night 
of that terrible storm, about a month ago.” She looked 
at Frau Bertha meaningly. 

“Oh!” said that little woman as suddenly as though she 
had been stabbed. 

Eugenia stooped and kissed her tenderly. 

“Don’t hurry so through the heat,” Frau Bertha 
begged. “They have gone the long way by Sundown 
Creek. If you go through the little pasture, you can 
reach Willowlake before they do, mein Fraulein ” 

“That is the way I came,” answered Eugenia. “Only 
I shall make that short cut over the stile. Goodbye, I 
shall try and come again soon.” She turned to the Devil 
Wolf. “Goodbye,” she said distantly, extending her 
hand. 

He pressed the slender white hand between his own a 
bit too warmly. “Miss Appleton,” he said gravely, “I 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


151 

shall try some day to return the service you have done for 
me this afternoon and the one you are about to do now/’ 

“Indeed,” she responded earnestly, “it is but a payment 
of what I owe you. It is the first time I have had an 
opportunity to pay back what you did for me. What I 
am doing is nothing wonderful; it is only common grat¬ 
itude.” 

“Oh, is that all?” he said blankly, and let her hand 
fall. 

He watched her as, after another hasty goodbye to 
Frau Bertha, and a little kiss to the sleeping Gretel, she 
ran lightly down the cinder walk and opened the gate. 
She waved goodbye to Frau Bertha who had followed her 
to the door, and was soon lost to view behind a clump of 
trees. 

Then Frau Bertha turned slowly to the Devil Wolf 
standing disconsolately, his head bent down, and his 
hands grasping the table behind him. 

“So!” she said gaily. “Das Fraidein is the goddess 
with the red hair and the eyes like brown stars.” 

“It doesn’t take you long to catch on to anything, does 
it, Mutterchen?” he laughed miserably. 

“It is a pity that it should be just das Madel,’* contin¬ 
ued Frau Bertha, “for I hear in the town that she is the 
one who is to be the wife of Sir Mortimer and have the 
grand title and all the jewels they say he has. Ach, Gott! 
but she will look like a queen!” 

“What could she possibly see in Sir Mortimer Paige?” 
he muttered. 


!52 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Ach, ich weiss nicht! But he has a good looking 
face,—I have seen it, mein Herr !—and he has money also 
and a title.” 

“Yes, I reckon that’s it,” sighed the Devil Wolf. 


CHAPTER TEN 


Meanwhile, Eugenia hastened on down the dusty road. 
This time, there was no reading “The Three Musketeers,” 
with its deeds of brave men and love affairs of high-born 
women. It is true her thoughts were filled with romance, 
but the romance was not that of people long since dead, 
but of people very much alive: of Sir Mortimer Paige, 
and Jerry O’Neil, and the man she had just left, whom 
she knew to be Jerry O’Neil. 

What she was doing, she told herself stubbornly, was 
just common gratitude. She was no silly, giddy, high- 
school girl, to be caught by the romantic halo of dar¬ 
ing that has encircled the head of the highwayman since 
the first time a man thought of stopping his fellows on 
the road and taking from them what was not his to take. 
She wondered if she would have liked Jerry O’Neil—she 
decided not to use a stronger term—so much if she had 
met him merely as Margaret Wyeth’s half-brother and 
not as the Devil Wolf. She was certain she would not 
have done so. Then it followed that she was no better 
than some impressionable schoolgirl. She groaned in 
agony of spirit, then flung back her head with fine deter¬ 
mination. 

What she was doing was only gratitude. Her con¬ 
science would not have permitted her to do other than she 

i53 


154 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


had done this afternoon and contemplated doing for him. 
He had not hesitated to assist her in her hour of need. 
She, Eugenia Appleton, professor of philosophy at 
Dearborn College, certainly could not show a smaller soul 
than a highway robber, a rifler of bank vaults, and a 
stealer of other people’s property. No, it was just com¬ 
mon gratitude, she assured herself, and felt vastly re¬ 
lieved thereby. 

She decided she would take a very, very sensible view 
of the case. Jane was right, after all; Jerry O’Neil was 
not a match for her. Idle, shiftless, all Willowlake knew 
him to be; and she knew him to be something worse. 
No, Jane was right; but then Jane was practical and was 
always right. Probably, she was right also about Sir 
Mortimer, only Eugenia could not see herself accepting 
Sir Mortimeris hand when he offered it to her, and she 
had no doubt that he would offer it. She could not 
marry Sir Mortimer and chafe at her mental prison. 
She thought of the wonderful night ride she had taken 
with Jerry O’Neil when, as the Devil Wolf, he had driven 
her through the low, sullen Hills, and she went over again 
every word of the conversation. There was a mind that 
did not lie dormant; everything was a symbol for him; 
everything held a message. He regarded nothing alone, 
but always in comparison with everything else; a star in 
comparison with all stars; a world in comparison with all 
worlds; himself in comparison with all men. In time to 
come, she knew, he would pass that phase; would cease 
comparing things and see their relation to each other; so 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


155 

he would reach the heights in his philosophy. His 
crimes, as well as his wonderful courage, were born of 
that philosophy, a philosophy that made him possessor 
of all the world. It was a pity, she sighed, to find that 
richness of intellect in one who was outlawed by society. 

Just then there passed her in the road a rough cart 
filled with potatoes and drawn by a lean white horse. 
The country boy driving the rude vehicle glanced curi¬ 
ously at Eugenia and seeing her in evident haste and 
flushed with the heat, asked her in shy, boyish fashion if 
she wanted to ride. Thankfully, Eugenia accepted the 
offer and sank into the seat beside him with much satis¬ 
faction. 

“In a hurry ?” he asked bashfully. “You were 
walkin’ so fast.” 

“I want to reach Willowlake as soon as I can,” she 
answered. 

“It ain’t more than a half a mile now,” he answered. 
He looked at her a moment and then blurted out, “Say, 
I bet I know who you are!” 

“Yes?” 

“You’re the prosecutin’ attorney’s sister, ain’t you?” 

“His sister-in-law.” 

“Well, that’s what I mean. You’re a philosopher, 
ain’t you?” 

Eugenia laughed merrily. “I never knew what phi¬ 
losophy does for a person until I came to Willowlake. 

“But you are, ain’t you?” he insisted. 

“I teach it.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


156 

“Well, that’s the same thing. Aunt Delia was talkin’ 
about you to Mama the other day; that’s how I came to 
know. I’d like to have you tell me something.” 

“About philosophy?” she asked amusedly. “It is 
rather a large subject.” 

“No, ma’am, it’s about God.” 

Eugenia looked at her companion wonderingly. He 
was not the sort of boy, with his freckled face and dull 
eyes, to worry himself much about God and problems of 
theology, and it was with lively curiosity that she asked 
him, “What is it you want to know?” 

“Well, it’s this way.” He looked around him cau¬ 
tiously and sank his voice to a mere whisper. “I 
wouldn’t dare say this to anyone else here in Willowlake, 
but a—a philosopher is different from other people.” 

“We are only human, I am sorry to say,” she informed 
him sadly. 

“Yes, I know; but you don’t think about.things the 
way other people do,” he persisted. “Aunt Delia says a 
philosopher makes—makes allowances .” 

“And without knowing probably,” said Eugenia softly, 
“your Aunt Delia has in that one word summed up all 
philosophy. But what is it you want to know, or for 
whom is it you wish to make allowances?” 

“For,” again he glanced cautiously around and brought 
his mouth close to her ear, “for the Devil Wolf.” 

“What about him?” cried Eugenia, interested of a 
sudden. 

“Well, it was back about five or six weeks ago. You 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


157 


see, old Lawyer Thompson owns that orchard this side of 
the old Indian ruins, and he is the stingiest thing you ever 
saw about givin’ a fellow an apple or two; so one night— 
there was a moon, that night—I decided Fd go and get 
some. He has a dog, but I guessed I could fix the dog, 
and I did. I got my gunny sack just about half filled 
with apples and started home. I thought I’d take a short 
cut and go through the little pasture and skirt around 
Sundown Lake, there by the creek, you know, instead of 
havin’ to go all around the road which was the way I 
came. It would have been all right, only I forgot about 
the quicksand place and before I knew it, I was in it. 
I yelled and hollered but no one came. It is pretty far 
from everybody, you see. That’s where the Devil Wolf 
comes in. He came ridin’ through the pasture like all 
Satan was after him, and he had a black satchel in his 
hand. That was the night the express station at Eldridge 
was held up and he got $1,500. That was before you 
came. He was makin’ for The Hills and from the way 
he was ridin’, you’d judge the sheriff and all his men 
were after him. I was more frightened to see him than 
I was of the quicksand that was suckin’ me down, but I 
figured that he couldn’t do anything worse to me than 
the quicksand was doin’, so I let out a yell that attracted 
his attention all right. He got off his horse and came 
toward me. When he saw what was happenin’, he didn’t 
wait a minute. He got a big branch of a tree that had 
been broken off months before by the wind and threw 
it across to me, and then crawled out on it. It wasn’t 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


158 

a very wide branch, maybe three or four inches, and 
all the while, you understand, he was in danger of get- 
tin’ caught, too. But I don’t believe he ever thought of 
that. No, sir, I don’t believe he did. Then he 
took off his cloak and gave it to me; had to use it as a 
rope, you see. Then he crawled back again and got one 
hand around the trunk of a good stout tree and he 
holdin’ one end of the cloak and with me at the other 
end, he pulled me out. Yes, sir, got me out of there 
slick as a cat and all the while his feet were in the quick¬ 
sand, right at the beginnin’ of it, and if he hadn’t held 
on to the tree, he would have been sucked down, too. 
Then he put me on his horse and let me ride home. We 
didn’t talk very much; I was too frightened and I reckon 
he was thinkin’, maybe of the sheriff and his men. But 
when he did talk—I guess you’ve never heard his voice, 
have you? Well, there’s a laugh in it as though all the 
time he was laughin’ at something you couldn’t know of.” 

Eugenia nodded understandingly. She, Frau Bertha, 
and the country lad beside her, all had caught the same 
message of inner laughter—of a soul for whom the world 
is an amusing place. 

“What has all this to do with my being a philosopher 
—and I believe you said something about God?” 

“Yes, I did,” he insisted stubbornly. “There’s all this 
talk about capturin’ him, you know, and they have de¬ 
tectives here now. I’ve seen them snoopin’ around in 
The Hills tryin’ to find out where he hides. But they 
won’t, because I’ve hunted there days and days, and I 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


159 


haven’t found it yet, either, and I know those Hills better 
than those detectives do. Why, Ive hunted those Hills 
from the stile right down to Broken Nose Ravine, and 
there isn’t a place where a cat could hide, and yet he hides 
there! At least, there isn’t any other place where he 
could hide around Willowlake. Well, this is where you 
come in. I don’t want him to be captured. I ain’t 
ever told anyone at home about it—about how he got 
me out of the quicksand, because I’m afraid they might 
ask me questions, you see, and maybe learn things about 
him that way. No, I kept my mouth shut. Well, just 
last Sunday, the preacher began prayin’, and he prayed 
that the Devil Wolf would be captured and—and— 
hanged. That’s a pretty thing for a preacher to pray for, 
ain’t it, especially about a man like the Devil Wolf that 
ain’t really done anything wrong except take some old 
money, and you can see from what I’ve told you, even 
though you don’t know him yourself, that he ain’t bad. 
So I just decided that I guessed my prayers would be 
heard just about as well as his, though he is a minister 
and all that; so I prayed that I hoped he wouldn’t get 
caught because of what he did for me. That’s what I 
want you to tell me. You’re a philosopher, and you’ll 
know. Which of us is God goin’ to listen to, me or the 
minister?” 

There was something so pathetic in the boy’s gratitude 
for the erring man who had saved his life, in his childish 
trust that she could answer his question, that Eugenia 
was touched. 


i6o 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“I think God will listen to both,” she said gently, “but 
I am sure He will follow your suggestion rather than the 
minister’s for he is only asking what the congregation 
and the law expect him to ask and you are asking out of 
gratitude.” 

“Say, you are all right!” He beamed on her with boy¬ 
ish enthusiasm. “I’d like to be a philosopher when I 
grow up, if it makes you able to explain things like that. 
This is about where you get out, ain’t it?” 

He waited until Eugenia had descended and then said 
anxiously. “I ain’t goin’ to ask you not to tell, because— 
because a philosopher don’t tell on people like that, do 
they, even if you are a sister-in-law of Mr. Wilbur’s?” 

“We do not!” she said with emphasis. 

He beamed on her again, and said bashfully, “If you 
could have seen the Devil Wolf that night, and heard him 
talk with the funny little laugh in his voice, you’d know r 
the reason why I didn’t tell, either.” 

Eugenia smiled as she mounted the steps of her 
brother-in-law’s house. Both this little country boy and 
Frau Bertha had confided to her, because they knew she 
was a philosopher, what they would not have confided to 
anyone else. They had no faith in Christianity, but they 
did have faith in the spirit born of the old Greeks. Some 
day she would lecture about it in the classroom. 

Owing to the friendly lift, she had reached home con¬ 
siderably sooner than she had reckoned upon and her first 
thought was to telephone Sir Mortimer. Without wait¬ 
ing to remove hat or gloves, she took up the telephone, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


161 


only to be informed in the suave tones of Ranse, Sir Mor¬ 
timer’s chauffeur and general factotum, that the baronet 
had been taken ill in the afternoon and was now asleep. 
No, Sir Mortimer could not be awakened. It was strictly 
against the doctor’s orders ever to awaken Sir Mortimer 
when he fell asleep after one of his attacks. Was there 
any message? 

Eugenia hesitated a moment through a sense of de¬ 
corum, then said boldly, “Sir Mortimer will receive a call 
from two men this afternoon. If he is awake to receive 
them, tell him to call me up before he talks to them. It 
is very important that he talks to me before he talks to 
them. Will you tell him that, Ranse? This is Miss 
Appleton.” 

“Yas’m, I’ll remember.” 

She hung up the receiver, but did not immediately rise. 
She pulled off her gloves slowly and mused the while of 
many things; principally, of a dark lake of quicksand 
and a man who recklessly risked his own life to save that 
of a child’s. Then she thought of the two prayers. One 
of those prayers God would answer, but which? She 
knew which of them she would answer if she were God. 

She sought the quiet of her own room and was glad 
that Jane had gone out for the afternoon. In her present 
state of dreaminess, Jane’s questions would have been 
torture. 

She wasn’t quite sure about this strange state of dream¬ 
iness that engulfed her like a roseate cloud. The world 
seemed to have receded far from her; Dearborn College 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


162 

with its chair of philosophy, Willowlake and its triviali¬ 
ties, everything had in some strange way melted into 
nothingness and all that remained was a laughing voice 
and black eyes that twinkled merrily behind a silken 
fringed mask. 

It was a strange condition of mind, and she was sure 
that the story of the country boy had much to do with it. 
Everyone who had come but in momentary touch with 
him, swore faith to him; was it any wonder then that 
she— 

But she wasn’t in love with him, she insisted. It was 
perfectly ridiculous even to imagine such a thing—she, 
the occupant of the chair of philosophy at Dearborn Col¬ 
lege, and he, a Devil Wolf, nameless, and a thief. 

She did not know how long she sat there, staring out 
into Jane’s Italian Garden, and turning the thing over 
in her mind, but she was aroused at last by Katie’s 
entrance. 

“Sir Mortimer Paige on the ’phone, Miss Eugenia.” 

She left Katie far behind her in her haste to get the 
difficult matter over with though she had not realized just 
how difficult the matter was until she heard Sir Morti¬ 
mer’s weary voice at the other end. 

“You wished to speak to me, Miss Eugenia?” 

“Why, yes, I wanted—” she began, grew confused, 
and then blurted out. “Mr. Roberts and Mr. Gray will 
call on you this afternoon.” 

“Yes?” There was polite surprise in Sir Mortimer’s 
voice. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 163 

“They—they are going to return to you a pair of gloves 
that you lost.” 

“But I haven’t lost any.” There was more than sur¬ 
prise in his tired voice this time; there was a puzzled note. 

“I know you haven’t,” she agreed eagerly, “but that is 
what I wanted to speak to you about. Would it be ask¬ 
ing too much for you to let them think they are your 
gloves, and don’t let them know you haven’t lost any? 
Oh, I know,” she added hastily, “how queer all this 
sounds to you, but—maybe I will explain some day. 
But, please, please , Sir Mortimer,” the voice coming 
through the receiver to the baronet’s ear was tragic to the 
extreme, “let them think the gloves are yours!” 

“Of course, I will do it,” he assured her. “You know 
you have only to ask and—I believe they are coming 
now.” 

“Oh, don’t let them know you were talking to me, Sir 
Mortimer!” she implored. 

“I shall handle the matter with all discretion,” was the 
quiet reply. “Shall I return the gloves to you?” 

“If—if you please,” she stammered, “and I will return 
them to the party to whom they really belong. I don’t 
know how to thank you.” 

“It is a very little thing,” he responded lightly. 

“Then, goodbye, and—and thank you again.” 

She hung up the receiver with a deep sigh of relief. 
The detectives would learn nothing, and that little man 
with the shy, timid eyes would find that his suspicions 
were for nothing. 


164 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


In the meantime, the little man with the shy, timid eyes 
was bowing to Sir Mortimer. 

“You probably remember me, Sir Mortimer ?” he said 
in his absurdly bashful voice. “We met at the Wilbur’s. 
I undertook a mission this afternoon to return these to 
you.” 

He held out the gloves to Sir Mortimer, who took them 
with a surprised look. “They are certainly mine, but I 
cannot recall—” 

“At the Widow Baumgarten’s ?” 

“Yes, I remember now,” answered Sir Mortimer care¬ 
lessly. “You were there this afternoon?” 

“We stopped in to borrow a match and she asked us to 
return them.” For some reason known only to himself, 
Gray made no mention of Eugenia’s name. 

“I was there last week and must have left them,” re¬ 
sponded Sir Mortimer indifferently. “In fact, I remem¬ 
ber doing so, now that I think about it. Intended to let 
Ranse stop there some day on his way to Mayfair, and 
forgot to tell him about it. I thank you for your cour¬ 
tesy in going so far out of your way.” 

“Not at all,” the other assured him. 

There were a few polite amenities, another word or 
two of thanks, and then the two detectives found them¬ 
selves on the street. 

“What made you think the gloves were not Sir Morti¬ 
mer’s?” asked Roberts curiously. 

“Chiefly, because Miss Eugenia Appleton said they 


were. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


165 

Roberts stopped walking suddenly, and turned a pair of 
astonished eyes on his companion. “What has she to do 
with it?” 

“I don't know, but I would like to.” 

“How do you know she has anything to do with it?” 

“That handkerchief he came back to get belonged to 
her. Yes, I know,” he added hastily, “about the mono¬ 
gram, but you evidently did not examine it closely. It 
was E. .A., not E. H. The A. was not properly joined.” 

“And you think,” asked the big man slowly, “that a 
young lady like Miss Appleton, a college professor, would 
have anything to do with an outlaw, a man as low in the 
social scale as the Devil Wolf?” 

“He isn’t as low in the social scale as you may think,” 
answered the other serenely. “Do you remember the 
Devil Wolf?” he asked suddenly, looking with queer in¬ 
tensity into his companion’s face. 

“I could hardly forget him,” responded the other 
grimly. 

“What impression did you get of him?” asked the little 
man nervously. 

“What impression did you get of him?” countered the 
other. 

“That he is a man who does not exist.” 

“Eh?” asked the other sharply. 

Gray did not answer immediately, and both walked on 
for a few moments in silence. Then the little detective 
said slowly and carefully, “We have been investigating 
this affair for two weeks now, and I have come to the 


i66 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


conclusion that the only really valuable thing that has 
been said about him is when the prosecuting attorney said 
he was supernatural. That is true; the Devil Wolf 
doesn’t exist.” 

“What are you driving at, Gray?” asked the other a 
bit irritably. “You mean you think the man who spoke 
to us and drew a gun on us, and stole the handkerchief 
from us, is a spirit?” 

“No, not a spirit,” corrected the other. “I said he 
doesn’t exist.” 

“It is the same thing.” 

“No, for a spirit exists, even if only in an etherealized 
form. The Devil Wolf doesn’t exist even in an ethereal¬ 
ized form. A spirit may sometime have existed. The 
Devil Wolf has never existed.” 

“We saw him.” 

“We saw something.” 

“What was it we saw?” 

“I will tell you,” answered the other with sudden en¬ 
ergy. “I once saw a great actor play Hamlet. He had a 
thrilling voice and a princely personality; he was Hamlet. 
He had sunk his own being so far into that of the ill- 
fated Dane that the result was something that was noth¬ 
ing. When he was on the stage, he was neither himself 
nor Hamlet, for he had merged the two into his own con¬ 
ception of the character, and that character existed no¬ 
where but on the stage, and then only when he was play¬ 
ing it. He didn’t exist then, for there was too much of 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


167 


Hamlet in him, and Hamlet did not exist for there was 
too much of the actor’s own personality in him. The 
person that walked about the stage speaking Hamlet’s 
lines was Nobody. The Devil Wolf is Nobody.” 

“Well, we knew that before,” said Roberts heavily. 
“We all know that the Devil Wolf in private life has 
another name.” 

“It goes farther than that,” said the other sadly. 
“There is someone in this town to whom the character 
of the Devil Wolf is as the elixir of life. He studies the 
character like the actor studied Hamlet. He is an actor 
playing a well-beloved role, and just as the person playing 
Hamlet did not exist, so the Devil Wolf does not exist. 
If some man in Willowlake were playing the Devil Wolf 
in order to rob banks and hold up express trains, it would 
be an easy matter to find him; but the man who plays the 
part of the Devil Wolf plays it for the sake of the charac¬ 
ter he assumes. The actor whom I saw playing Hamlet, 
had studied the role for years and his actions were the 
actions he thought Hamlet would have made under the 
circumstances; the man who plays the part of the Devil 
Wolf has studied the role also, and all that he does is 
what he supposes a Devil Wolf would do. I tell you, 
Roberts, it isn’t money he is after, it is applause.” 

“Then if young O’Neil is the Devil Wolf—and we are 
reasonably sure of it,” remarked the other, “it knocks 
your fanciful theory in the head. O’Neil is after the 
money. He doesn’t work and he only has a few hundred 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


168 

a year from his father. If he is robbing banks and hold¬ 
ing up trains, he is doing it for the cash that is in it.” 

'‘Yes,” responded the other slowly, “that’s what wor¬ 
ries me. Here is a good restaurant; let’s go in.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


The fancy dress ball with which Sir Mortimer had de¬ 
cided to cancel all his social obligations, had been post¬ 
poned twice, to the chagrin of at least the feminine por¬ 
tion of Willowlake’s upper strata, who had been antici¬ 
pating it with more or less pleasurable emotions; for Sir 
Mortimer, wealthy and cultured as to taste, was quite 
able, they thought, to give them something a bit out of 
the ordinary. It had been originally scheduled for the 
third week in July, but twice had Sir Mortimer’s health, 
“the something that was the matter with his heart,” 
stepped in and refused to permit him to follow out the 
arrangements. Finally, however, much to the relief of 
the Willowlake ladies, the invitations were issued and 
Sir Mortimer’s house was being put in order for the 
festivities. 

It was Jane who engineered everything, for Sir Mor¬ 
timer, realizing the shortcomings of a bachelor estab¬ 
lishment, and also because his health would not permit 
him the arduous duties of a host, had asked Jane to super¬ 
intend the affair, which that bustling little matron was 
only too glad to do. She was indefatigable in her labors 
and left Sir Mortimer hardly anything to do but approve 
the bills as they came in. 

Although she consulted Sir Mortimer on even the 
169 


170 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


meanest detail, the baronet was not too ill to notice that 
things were finally done as she wished them done, and not 
according to any desire he might have expressed. How¬ 
ever, he bore her no resentment, but really felt grateful, 
since it left him more leisure to lie upon his comfortable 
sofa, with heavy white lids drawn down over the weary 
eyes. 

But though Sir Mortimer might take the matter 
calmly, it was more than Willowlake did. Nothing was 
talked of but costumes and every dressmaker in town was 
working overtime. 

“My dress will be a perfect dear,” confided Margaret 
Wyeth to Mrs. Wilbur, as she, in company with Mrs. 
Parsons and Miss Cartright, called on Jane a day or so 
before the appointed evening. “I copied it directly from 
an old print and am sure to get it right. Light blue satin, 
with a bodice of darker blue encrusted with pearls. It is 
the exact duplicate of the one Louise de la Valliere wore 
on the occasion of her presentation to King Louis XIV. 
I can hardly wait to wear it.” 

Jane’s lips puckered primly and she threw a by no 
means sisterly glance at Eugenia, who, busied with the 
chocolate cups, did not see it. The puckered lips were 
caused by the mention of the character which Margaret 
Wyeth had elected to assume for the fancy dress ball, 
a character which had not been decided upon until Eu¬ 
genia, in an inadvertent moment—since roundly scolded 
for by her sister—had mentioned that Sir Mortimer had 
finally decided to wear the costume of Louis XIV. It 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


171 

was like Margaret Wyeth’s shamelessness, Jane thought, 
to go as Louise de La Valliere, whose name history has 
connected so closely with that of the Grand Monarch! 

“And what are you going as, my dear?” asked little 
Mrs. Parsons turning toward Eugenia. 

Eugenia laughed. “I scarcely know just whom I shall 
represent. It is all in Jane’s hands, and she changes her 
mind about me several times a day. I believe just now 
it is Juliet, although no later than yesterday morning, 
it was Margaret.” 

“Of course, you are going as Juliet,” interrupted Jane. 
“You know that as well as I do, Eugenia. Miss Fordham 
is making the dress, and has it almost completed. I 
have spared absolutely no expense,” she glared for a 
moment at Miss Margaret, “and Eugenia’s dress will be 
magnificent.” 

“You will certainly look lovely as Juliet,” whispered 
Mrs. Parsons, and Eugenia thanked her with a smile. 
She had grown to like the Methodist minister’s little lady 
very much, and there was a real bond of sympathy be¬ 
tween them. 

“Have you decided upon your costume?” asked 
Eugenia in a low tone. 

“I am going as Mother Goose,” laughed Mrs. Parsons, 
gleefully. “The minister chose that character for me 
and I am sure I shall look the part. What character has 
your sister chosen?” 

Eugenia sighed. “She will go as Queen Elizabeth, 
I believe, and much as I love Jane, I must confess she 


172 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


could have hit upon no luckier choice, for she has all 
the dictatorial characteristics of that strong-minded 
monarch.” 

They exchanged a light laugh and then joined the 
group at the other end of the room, where Miss Cartright 
was saying in a firm voice, “I have not quite decided 
whether I shall accept Sir Mortimer’s invitation or not. 
After the way he has acted about signing the dance hall 
petition, I do not think I shall go. If I do decide to go, 
I shall put on an old crinoline that belonged to my grand¬ 
mother, and go as a mere fancy figure.” 

Eugenia bit her lip and dared not glance at Jane. To 
consider Miss Cartright, with her scrawny neck, sharp 
nose and thick glasses, as a “fancy figure,” required some¬ 
what of an imagination. 

“Has Sir Mortimer signed the petition yet?” asked 
Mrs. Parsons timidly. 

“He has not,” Jane said with emphasis. “He has abso¬ 
lutely refused to do so. I talked to him for two hours 
day before yesterday, and he refused even to consider 
it. They are complete except for his signature and as we 
will not get that, we had better present it to the commis¬ 
sioners without it.” 

“Who has the petition now?” asked Miss Cartright 
anxiously. 

“I have,” answered Jane. “It is locked in my desk.” 

“Did you see that article in the Willowlake Sentinel 
day before yesterday?” asked Miss Cartright signifi¬ 
cantly. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


173 


“About Mike O’Reilly? Yes, I read where they wrote 
some very slighting things about myself, but then every 
time I have stepped in and tried to do something for 
Willowlake’s betterment, I have been written about in 
the Sentinel. I don’t mind it any more, and as to the 
remark that when Mike O’Reilly hears about it, he will 
see that we do not accomplish our aims, we will see that 
the petition is put before the commissioners before Mike 
O’Reilly reaches town, and passed ” 

“And we haven’t a thing to fear from the commis¬ 
sioners,” remarked Margaret eagerly. “Papa is pres¬ 
ident of the board, and, of course, he will see that the 
factory people haven’t a chance to put their counterpeti¬ 
tion over, even if Jerry does stand up for them the way 
he does, calling that vulgar, painted thing by her first 
name. I believe he has actually danced with the creature. 
Jerry never did have any pride.” 

“Is he going to Sir Mortimer’s ball?” asked Jane. 

“Oh, yes,” answered Margaret hastily, “and what 
character do you think he is going to assume? You 
never could guess.” 

“Mephistopheles ?” asked Miss Cartright grimly. 

“Oh, no, no!” protested Mrs. Parsons, who rather liked 
Jerry. 

“It is not far from it,” said Margaret with a pout. 
“He is going as the Devil Wolf!” 

Eugenia’s light, merry laugh was the only sound that 
broke the more or less horrified silence. 

“Eugenia!” reproved her sister. 


174 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“But I do think,” remarked Eugenia boldly, “that 
Jerry O’Neil is the only person in Willowlake with a 
sense of humor.” 

“Oh, Jerry isn’t half bad,” conceded Miss Margaret 
grudgingly, with true sisterly contempt, “but I do think 
he might have chosen some character more in keeping 
with Sir Mortimer’s culture and refinement.” 

At the time when Sir Mortimer, weary-eyed and white¬ 
faced, had come to Willowlake in search of the health 
which he was destined never to find in full measure, and 
had bought the old Randley place, Willowlake wondered 
what he could possibly see in the old, run-to-seed mansion, 
and why he did not purchase one of the low-ceilinged, 
thoroughly modern, five-room bungalows built along the 
Esplanade, which was the Fifth Avenue of Willowlake. 

They could not know that it was the tranquillity of a 
bygone age, resting so lightly on the shoulders of the 
old mansion, that attracted Sir Mortimer. 

It had been designed and built some fifty years before 
by an old recluse, a scholarly Randley, who had hated 
the world and had chosen to live out of it, and yet who 
could not cramp himself into a student’s attic. So he 
built the old rambling mansion, with its fourteen high- 
ceilinged rooms, so that if the thoughts would not come 
to him in one room, he could go to another. He had 
been a man of wide travel and excellent taste—albeit, 
the refined, thoroughly correct taste of one who has dug 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


175 


into the subject and has acquired the knowledge of what 
is correct and tasteful. 

He had set the house well back from the road, and had 
surrounded it completely with an old-fashioned garden 
which in itself was a botanical marvel, for he had col¬ 
lected there plants from different parts of the world. 
Here a northern fir flirted coyly with a southern palm, 
and a shrub from the Fiji Islands, blossoming in tropical 
splendor, elbowed an English lilac; shy violets peeped 
under the huge leaves of cactus plants; field daisies and 
half-blown stately roses nudged one another. The old 
garden was a conglomeration of incongruous things, a 
fit emblem perhaps of the conglomeration of ideas which 
surged through the student’s mind, for he had read many 
philosophies and had joined in some impossible system 
known only to himself the reason of Kant with the egois¬ 
tic Hedonism of Epicurus, the pessimism of Schopenhauer 
with the idealism of Plato, and had made other and more 
incongruous combinations. 

But through all the wild and impossible garden, he had 
made narrow little gravel paths, another fit symbol of 
the strain of beauty which ran, just like sane and healthy 
little paths, through the wilderness of his mind. 

He had erected a sun dial around whose feet nestled 
huge ball-like cacti, and around whose pedestal climbed 
red roses; there was a white marble fountain, wherein a 
bronze Venus threw all chastity to the four winds and 
displayed herself in her voluptuous charms. 


176 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Such was the garden in which the old Randley mansion 
reared itself and stared down, a bit arrogantly one might 
think, on the houses around it, just as the student perhaps 
had grown into the habit of looking down on the rest of 
the world who had not dug so deeply into philosophy 
and science as he had done. 

The builder seemed to have expended all his nervous 
insanity upon the garden, for the house stood in its quaint 
simplicity as the symbol of rest and peace—perhaps of 
the rest and peace that came to the student in those mo¬ 
ments when he came in from the incongruous garden, 
laid aside his confused philosophical problems, and sat 
down in his old library to read romance, poetry, and 
history. 

Though large and rambling, it yet looked compact and 
stood as firmly and solidly as some marble temple of old. 
Vines covered the bleak walls, throwing a thin network 
of chastity around its nudeness in winter time, and cover¬ 
ing it with a blaze of glory in summer. 

Inside reigned the atmosphere of a bygone age with 
its little alcoves, its large high rooms, thick walls, wide 
stairways, and everything that bespoke the generosity 
and abundance of a previous generation. 

When Sir Mortimer had purchased the place, he had 
hired a gardener to bring the garden into presentable 
shape and, having a healthier taste than the student had 
possessed, had made of it a lovely, tranquil place, sane, 
peaceful, and full of dreams. He had had the house 
wired for electricity and piped for plumbing, but there 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


177 


the improvement ended. Everything else was as in the 
student’s time: the brocaded divans and chairs, the deli¬ 
cate dining room set, with its buffet sprinkled over with 
tumbling cupids, the solid fourposter, the marble-topped 
walnut tables and chiffoniers, the dark etchings that hung 
in the alcoves, the stiffly-posed portraits of dead Randleys, 
and the thousand and one things that hinted of a past age. 

It was in this fairy palace of fragrant flowers and dead 
past that Sir Mortimer was waiting passively for death. 

His household was of the simplest. Ranse, young, 
strong, and devoted, not only served Sir Mortimer as 
chauffeur, but as valet and major-domo. He did all but 
the cooking and that was ably performed by a portly, 
middle-aged negress, a distant relative of Ranse, although, 
to be sure, the relationship was one not easily established. 
Sir Mortimer, in one of the rare moments when weariness 
and world-pain sat more lightly than usual upon him, had 
tried to figure it out for him. 

“Yo’ see,” Ranse explained innocently, “my mothah’s 
secon’ husban’s—I’m huh chil’ by huh firs’ husban’—my 
mothah’s secon’ husban’s sistuh-in-law by his firs’ wife 
ma’ied this lady’s cousin an’ dat makes me a so’t of 
nephew to huh, don’t it?” 

Sir Mortimer had gravely assented and, having thus 
secured official approval, Ranse religiously called the 
lady Aunt Clementine. 

Once a week, Aunt Clementine’s daughter came to 
assist in the housework and do the washing, Aunt Clemen¬ 
tine scornfully declaring that she was cook, not maid of 


i 7 8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


all work, and refusing to attend to anything outside her 
culinary duties. 

There was not an eligible young lady in Willowlake 
who did not pity Sir Mortimer for his lonely existence 
or who would not gladly have consented to cheer it for 
him, and Aunt Clementine’s daughter, who did the wash¬ 
ing in many other houses besides Sir Mortimer’s, was 
bribed with cast-off silk petticoats, and discarded picture 
hats, to tell all that Sir Mortimer said and did. Perhaps 
not all she told was the truth, but when could truth stand 
up before some coveted bit of finery. And the fair lis¬ 
tener would sigh, yield up the prize, and then wish it 
were in her power to brighten up the baronet’s darkened 
existence. 

Tonight the peace and quiet of the place had vanished 
and from every window shone lights and from every 
window echoed merriment, for Sir Mortimer, in an 
attempt to return with one sumptuous affair, all the cour¬ 
tesies of Willowlake’s aristocracy, had made that affair 
as elegant as possible, even though it was an event which 
could bring no pleasure to himself. 

Sir Mortimer, in the sky-blue satin costume of Louis 
XIV, received his laughing, masked, and gaily-apparelled 
guests with quiet courtesy, and turned them over to Jane, 
resplendent in her Queen Elizabeth costume of wine-col¬ 
ored velvet. He had a like compliment for each one, espe¬ 
cially the ladies, but for Eugenia there was something 
more. She had fled, in spite of Jane’s uplifted eyebrows, 
into a tiny alcove overlooking the huge ballroom, where 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


179 

she could watch the gay throng undisturbed, and here 
it was that Sir Mortimer followed her. 

“The costumes were all so pretty and I wanted to see it 
as a whole/’ she explained, half-apologetically, “but I 
feel much easier in my mind about my rudeness now that 
there are two of us.” 

“I did not come here to watch the crowd,” he said with 
quiet sincerity. “I came here because I saw you come 
here.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Eugenia. The monosyllabic ejacu¬ 
lation was occasioned, half by Sir Mortimer’s remark, 
and half by the fact that just then Jerry O’Neil entered 
the room amid a loud burst of merriment. He was in 
the costume of the Devil Wolf as Willowlake knew the 
redoubtable outlaw; long black cloak, hat drawn over 
his forehead, mask, pistol, and all. Totally forgetful of 
Sir Mortimer, Eugenia leaned forward marvelling at the 
daring of the man. She glanced around the room and 
saw in one corner three gray dominos talking interestedly 
together. One of them she knew to be her brother-in-law, 
for she had helped fashion the garment he wore, and the 
others she knew by their figures to be the two detectives. 
She wondered if Sir Mortimer had invited them, through 
a desire to aid the Government in every way possible, or 
if Arthur had taken it upon himself to bring them there 
without an invitation. The three masked faces were 
turned toward Jerry O’Neil who stood in the center of the 
room, surrounded by a bevy of laughing girls in all 
costumes. 


i8o 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“It is a mad thing for him to do/’ murmured her 
companion. 

Startled, Eugenia turned toward the baronet. Could 
it be that Sir Mortimer, in spite of his retired existence, 
suspected ? 

“It is only a jest,” Eugenia hastened to say. “Mr. 
O’Neil seems to have a fund of wit that takes its outlet 
in queer ways. What do you think of the other cos¬ 
tumes?” she asked, seeking to draw his attention from the 
black-cloaked, laughing figure below them. 

“They are all charming,” he responded, “especially 
Miss Wyeth. I am not mistaken, am I—the La Valliere 
is Miss Wyeth?” 

“Yes,” answered Eugenia laconically and again sought 
to read her companion’s face. She had often wondered 
if Sir Mortimer were as totally oblivious as he seemed 
to the snares which Miss Margaret laid for him, and now 
the shadow of a sarcastic smile that played around his 
thin lips assured her that he was not. 

“And you,” he added, turning to her, “could have 
chosen no character more suitable than that of Juliet.” 

“Thank you, Sir Mortimer. But it was not my 
choice,” she sighed. “I did want to go as Mary, Queen 
of Scots, and wear a lace ruff around my neck, but Jane 
insisted on the Juliet dress and I must say that the cos¬ 
tume is pretty.” She smoothed with her hand the shim¬ 
mering white satin with its bodice of pearls. 

“I have never seen a more charming Juliet,” he assured 
her gallantly. “It was a much happier selection than 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


181 


your representation of the ill-fated Queen of Scots would 
have been, Miss Eugenia. Mary was not at all a noble 
character and Juliet was.” 

Eugenia nodded graciously at the implied compliment, 
and then laughed girlishly. “I suppose it will seem like 
high treason to you, Sir Mortimer, but I never did care 
much for Juliet. It seems to me she would have done 
better to marry Paris and live a peaceful, happy existence. 
Of course,” she acknowledged, “I admit the affair with 
Romeo was romantic and all that, but—” 

“I quite agree with you, as far as the marriage with 
Paris was concerned. I am sure it would have been bet¬ 
ter for her had she married him, though as you say, it was 
unromantic. That is where I am sure you would never 
emulate Juliet, Miss Eugenia—falling in 1— er—prefer¬ 
ring a man just because the family disapproved of him, 
and scorning another, perhaps not so romantic, but who 
could certainly have made her happier than Romeo did. 

Eugenia did not answer at once. Was that a covert 
allusion to the episode of the gloves, and did he suspect 
her of having a love-affair with someone of whom her 
family disapproved? Possibly, he even suspected Jerry 
O’Neil, and if he suspected Jerry of being the Devil 
Wolf, then he must be able to see the whole situation. In 
that moment, Eugenia writhed with anxiety for Jerry and 
mortification because of her own share of it. She had 
never condescended to explain the affair of the gloves to 
Sir Mortimer, and, true gentleman that he was, he had 
never asked for an explanation. It had never been al- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


182 

luded to in any way, not even on the occasion when he 
delivered the gloves into her keeping. 

“Oh, even if I don’t care for Juliet as a heroine,” she 
defended, “I am perfectly willing to make allowances for 
her. One must not forget the nimbus of romantic daring 
that encircled Romeo’s head: he was young, passionate 
and tender one moment, gay and blithe the next.” 

She said it with her eyes on Jerry O’Neil, still the cen¬ 
ter of a group of laughing admirers, although his eyes 
constantly searched the room as though he were looking 
for some one figure among the crowd. 

“Yes,” assented Sir Mortimer, with a sigh, “one can 
see where such a nature would be more acceptable to Ju¬ 
liet than Paris who was somewhat taciturn and had no 
gift for making pretty speeches.” 

He sighed again, and Eugenia wondered if he were 
drawing a comparison between himself and Jerry O’Neil. 
In that moment, she pitied him; pitied him while she 
longed to get away before he would say what she knew he 
was going to say and what she would say no to after he 
had said it. For just that particular instant, she agreed 
heartily with Juliet: she was willing to exchange the tac¬ 
iturn Paris for the gay, romantic Romeo any time. It 
was unphilosophical, perhaps, but it was human. 

“But do you think,” went on Sir Mortimer quietly, 
taking up her tiny fan and playing with it, his head low¬ 
ered as though reluctant to let her see the thing that lay 
perhaps a bit too apparently in the dark eyes, “do you 
think, Miss Eugenia, that if you had been Juliet, placed 


THE DEVIL WOLF 183 

as she was placed, between Paris and Romeo, you would 
have made her choice?” 

Eugenia looked at her companion’s bowed head and 
then down into the ballroom. Arthur and the two detec¬ 
tives still lingered in the corner, masked faces turned 
toward Jerry O’Neil, who, just at that moment, had 
drawn his wicked-looking gun on Mother Goose, and was 
demanding a kiss, to Mother Goose’s embarrassment and 
the minister’s horror. 

Jane, majestic in her wide-spreading robe, was talking 
to Miss Cartright, who had finally condescended to attend 
and wore a rusty brown crinoline, and Margaret Wyeth, 
who did not scruple to show a certain nervousness of 
manner, which caused her answers to Jane’s remarks to 
take on an appearance of being founded upon old 
Polonius’ famous recipe for the “soul of wit.” Did the 
absence of Sir Mortimer have anything to do with that 
nervousness, Eugenia wondered? Probably Jane her¬ 
self thought so, for around her lips played a little mali¬ 
cious smile as she watched Margaret’s visible uneasiness. 
Evidently, Jane felt that Sir Mortimer had his own rea¬ 
sons for following her sister and was already glorying 
over Margaret. 

And in fact, at that very moment, under cover of a 
discussion of Juliet’s folly, Sir Mortimer was doing what 
Jane prayed night and day he would do—ask Eugenia to 
become Lady Paige. 

She had been expecting this, but it was nevertheless a 
shock to find that Sir Mortimer, lazy and weary as he 


184 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


was, could bring himself to the point. She was glad he 
had put it in this form, for she had meant all along to 
refuse him and now here was a chance to do it without 
the blunt directness that would have hurt. 

“I cannot say that Romeo would have charmed me to 
the extent he did Juliet,” she answered with a little at¬ 
tempt at a laugh, “but for that matter, I am very sure 
Paris would not have charmed me, either.” 

She rose and added lightly, as though the matter were 
really not of importance, “Jane is horribly annoyed at 
my rudeness in leaving her. Shall we go below, Sir 
Mortimer?” 

“The noise confuses me,” he murmured. “I will re¬ 
main here a while longer.” He bowed low over her 
hand, and touched it with his lips with as much gallantry 
as the king whose costume he wore could have done, and 
as he raised his eyes for just a moment to hers, Eugenia 
saw, not without a queer stab of remorse, that Sir Morti¬ 
mer had understood. 

She left him there and went below to appease Jane’s 
wrath and Margaret Wyeth’s anxiety, for that young 
lady had indeed seen Sir Mortimer follow Eugenia and 
was fearful of the outcome, since she could not help but 
admit that Eugenia looked charming in the white satin 
Juliet-gown and the tiny chaplet of pearls on her red-gold 
hair. 

Eugenia, without too much ostentation, looked around 
the room for Jerry O’Neil, but, strange to say, in the few 
moments she had consumed in coming from the alcove to 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


185 

the drawing room, Jerry had vanished utterly and com¬ 
pletely. Eugenia felt more annoyed than she cared to 
admit, and a bit angry at Jerry, for no apparent reason. 
However, she was given no chance to repine, for Mrs. 
Wilbur’s pretty sister was not one to be allowed to remain 
in peace and she soon became the center of a group of 
Indians, cavaliers, gypsies, musketeers, Chinamen and 
French Apaches. 

It was a scene of gay costumes and bright laughter 
which was not even dimmed when Sir Mortimer, finally 
making his way into the drawing room, was seen to grow 
pale and clutch at the table for support. The unusual 
excitement, disturbing the even tenor of his life, had 
brought on one of his nervous attacks and he was forced 
to*retire for a while to the quiet of his own room. 

“But,” announced Jane in the dulcet tone of the prac¬ 
ticed hostess, “he doesn’t want any disturbance made. 
It is just one of his attacks and will pass away in an 
hour’s time if he is left in quiet.” 

There was a flurry of sympathetic remarks from the 
ladies, “poor dear man,” being among the most fre¬ 
quently uttered, and then everybody straightway forgot 
the host for the dancing began. Never at any time an 
enthusiastic dancer, Eugenia, at the end of the second 
dance, rudely gave no heed to her next partner, and es¬ 
caped out of the crowded rooms to the cool veranda. 
She looked back for a moment and saw the wild conglom¬ 
eration of Chinamen dancing with gypsy queens; 
Captain Kidd gallantly leading out Little Red Riding 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


186 

Hood; Nero and Rosalind; Hamlet, forgetful of all mel¬ 
ancholy, boyishly giggling as he led out, not Ophelia, but 
Pocahontas, while Ophelia herself thought not of drown¬ 
ing but of dancing with a Roman gladiator. 

She was glad when the cool night air struck her flushed 
face and sat down for a few moments in one of the cush¬ 
ion-covered porch swings overlooking the fragrant gar¬ 
den with its old-fashioned flowers and its tropical 
monstrosities. Sir Mortimer had trained its wildness, 
and Eugenia felt drawn to it through its peace and love¬ 
liness. There was something else that drew her, too, 
something that was not the fragrant garden, something 
that she could not name, but could only sense, and that 
overpowered her with its subtle influence until she found 
herself, hardly knowing how she came to be there, dab¬ 
bling her fingers in the tiny sparkling fountain, with its 
laughing, bronze, thoroughly shameless Venus. She 
gathered up her long dress so that it could not touch the 
grass, already diamond-studded with dew and strolled 
down the little narrow paths that led nowhere. 

There was an intermingling of perfumes in the old 
garden: the perfume of pink roses, the perfume of white 
lilies, the perfume of heavy, gaudily-colored tropical 
plants. 

Coming to a rustic seat beside a hawthorn bush, she 
sat down and gave herself up to the world of dreams. 
It was almost at the far end of the garden, just outside 
the range of the light that issued from the brilliant rooms, 
though not outside the range of gay laughter and intoxi- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


187 

eating music. Beside her rose three feet of uncompro¬ 
mising stone and mortar which the student fifty years 
before had built to wall himself in from the world and 
which now served Sir Mortimer for the same purpose. 
In front of her, the tiny fountain tinkled, and the tinkling 
of its waters rose above the sound of the music. 

She was glad to be away from the incessant gay laugh¬ 
ter and chatter, and the music, and she wondered how 
Jane could endure it all, nay, seemed to enjoy it. At 
thought of her sister, her heart smote her. Jane was so 
proud of her sister’s beauty and distinction, had worked 
so hard to make Eugenia’s representation of Juliet the 
admiration and wonder of all who might behold her, and 
how had she, Eugenia, requited her? What would Jane 
say if she knew that Sir Mortimer had been on the point 
of proposing and she had killed the thing on his lips be¬ 
fore he had time to utter it? He would never approach 
the subject again, Eugenia knew that, and was glad to 
know it. She could not marry Sir Mortimer. She ad¬ 
mitted all his good qualities, but she could not marry him. 
Jane would never know what he had been about to say 
tonight, and no harm would be done. In three more 
weeks, Eugenia would be back in Dearborn College, 
essaying to teach young women the essentials of philoso¬ 
phy. She wondered if the philosophy she taught would 
ever be again her very own; she was sure that uncon¬ 
sciously she would mix up in it some 01 the wonder- 
philosophy of the Devil Wolf. 

The Devil Wolf! She drew a deep breath, and the 


88 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


little hands lying carelessly in her lap clasped each other 
tightly. Out here in this fairy garden, with the tinkling 
fountain in front of her and the scent of flowers all 
around her, things appeared very different than when 
contemplated in the garish light of day. There one 
might hold one’s head high and say one was a philoso¬ 
pher and one did not care; but out here she could not do 
that. Out here she lost sight of the fact that there was a 
price on his head, that the Government was laying traps 
for his unwary feet, and that he was a dreaded outlaw; 
she only saw him as one in whose eyes was laughter, in 
whose heart was courage, and in whose soul was a phi¬ 
losophy that was a quaint mixture of bitter almonds and 
sweet scented roses. 

She shook her head impatiently. She would be glad, 
she thought, when she was back in the quiet, ivy-covered 
tower room of Dearborn College, with her books and 
teaching, and had no intricate affairs cropping up, like 
this affair with the Devil Wolf. She wondered if he 
would ever be caught, and hoped, with a quick in-taking 
breath, that she would be far away from Willowlake 
when that tragedy occurred; so far away, that no news¬ 
papers would ever come to her bearing the tale of his cap¬ 
ture, trial and execution. 

The thought destroyed all the beauty that had been in 
the night: the heavy perfume of the vivid flowers became 
oppressive and the tinkle of the little fountain held a 
mournful note. Even the bronze Venus, who, but a mo¬ 
ment before, had joyously sported in the falling water, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


189 


seemed suddenly to have lost her joyousness and her 
smile. And all because there was a possibility that the 
Devil Wolf might some day mount the gallows and so 
there would be an end to laughter, jests, and wonder- 
philosophy. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


The crunching of feet on the gravel walk aroused her 
from her revery and through the branches of the haw¬ 
thorn bush, she saw a figure suddenly appear beside the 
little fountain. The figure was clad in a gray domino 
and stood there, fingers dabbling in the water, in a seem¬ 
ingly idle attitude that yet had something of expectancy 
in it. A ray from one of the brilliantly lighted rooms 
fell across the face, from which the mask had been taken, 
and she was not a little surprised to recognize her brother- 
in-law, the prosecuting attorney. She wondered idly 
what brought him into the dreamy garden and was about 
to rise and address him, when a second figure, clad like 
the first in a gray domino, appeared so suddenly and 
naturally that Eugenia shivered. A moment later she 
recognized him as Roberts. 

They spoke together in very low tones, but stood so 
close to the hawthorn bush that their voices reached her, 
and such was their talk that she drew her heavy satin 
frock into as small a space as possible behind the dense 
shrubbery in order that no gleam of it might catch their 
attention. 

“What has happened?” asked Wilbur impatiently. 
“Why did you want me to meet you out here?” 

“Because it is important that I speak with you alone,” 
190 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


191 

answered the other, “and this is the only lonely spot in 
the place.” He pitched his naturally deep voice a tone 
lower. “The Farmers National Bank was robbed thirty 
minutes ago of $5,000. The guard was bound and 
gagged but managed to get away. Gray has spoken to 
him.” 

“What!” exclaimed the other aghast. “It is impos¬ 
sible !” 

“Oh, it’s true, all right,” Roberts assured him. 

“But it can’t be!” exclaimed Wilbur, forgetting in his 
excitement to keep his voice lowered. “They have just 
put in a $15,000 burglar-proof mechanism.” 

“Sh-h-h!” growled the other savagely. “$15,000 
burglar-proof mechanism, huh? Well, it was smashed 
like an eggshell. It’s the neatest job I have ever seen; 
your Devil Wolf is an expert, I’ll say that much for him. 
He has all the latest tools, and he knows how to use them. 
It is the cleanest thing I have ever seen in the way of 
a bank robbery, and probably the neatest job your Devil 
Wolf ever pulled off. It had need to be, for it will be 
his last!” 

“You mean you have him!” The joyous note in her 
brother-in-law’s voice sickened Eugenia. “You know 
who he is?” 

“We will know in a few minutes; as soon as Gray gets 
back. Everyone slips up once, and the Devil Wolf has 
done it this time. Look what they found underneath the 
window where he got in.” 

He held out a small crumpled bit of paper to Wilbur, 


192 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


and the prosecuting attorney took it, smoothed it out, and 
uttered a low whistle of astonishment. 

“A piece of a dance program! That means,” and he 
said it with horror, “that the Devil Wolf is a guest here 
tonight!” 

“Either that,” laughed the other, “or he dropped it on 
purpose to make us think he was a guest here tonight.” 

Before Wilbur could answer, a third figure appeared 
as miraculously as Roberts had done, and Eugenia, peering 
through the hawthorn bush, recognized it as the meek 
little detective with the shy voice. 

“What did you find out?” asked Roberts eagerly. 

“Only one thing,” answered the other in his timid voice, 
“and that is that the only person who has been absent 
from the ballroom for any length of time is Jerry O’Neil.” 

Eugenia dug her finger nails into the palms of her hands 
to keep from shrieking aloud. It was all out now; they 
knew him, those blood-hounds of the law. A few days 
now, and— 

“So it is really Jerry O’Neil!” remarked the prosecut¬ 
ing attorney sadly. “I had hoped the sheriff was mis¬ 
taken. I pity poor Mr. Wyeth. It will be a shock to him 
to find out that it is his wife’s son who has been playing 
the Devil Wolf. Are you going to arrest him tonight? 
Surely, you will not do so in Sir Mortimer’s house?” 

“I’m afraid we will have to.” 

“Does Sir Mortimer know?” 

“He hasn’t come back to the ballroom yet,” answered 
Gray sympathetically. “He was taken ill early in the 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


193 

evening. As soon as he conies back, we will have to 
explain to him.” 

Perhaps the Dev—perhaps O’Neil will not come 
back,” suggested Wilbur. 

Gray looked up at him quickly. “Oh, he will come 
back,” he said with assurance. “That is the reason he 
plays the Devil Wolf, in order to do wild, insane things. 
You were the first to advance that suggestion, Mr. Wilbur, 
and I thoroughly agree with you. He would walk into 
an ambush even if he knew it was one. That is the rea¬ 
son he came dressed for the part this evening. He mas¬ 
querades as the Devil Wolf, intending all the while to 
leave the ballroom and be the Devil Wolf in earnest. I 
have met many brave men,” he said timidly, “but I have 
never met courage like that. It is the foolish and useless 
courage of a boy, but one cannot help admiring him for 
it. I would hate to see him swing,” he said sincerely. 

The prosecuting attorney sighed. “I had rather it had 
been anyone else than Jerry O’Neil. He has had the 
name among us of being a ne’er-do-well, but never any¬ 
thing worse. It will be a shock to his father and sister.” 

“I think we had better be going in,” suggested Roberts, 
whose sympathy with the outlaw was negligible. He 
had neither Gray’s finer faculties, nor the prosecuting 
attorney’s sense of friendship, to make him view Jerry 
O’Neil in any other light than as a malefactor. “I believe 
with Gray that he is just fool enough to come back, but 
I don’t think it is his courage that sends him back. He 
thinks he can get away with it. And if he does come 


194 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


back, it might be just as well for the denouement to take 
place tonight. We will have to drop a word to Sir Mor¬ 
timer, though.” 

The other two acquiesced and the three men started for 
the house, leaving Eugenia behind the hawthorn bush, 
with her face buried in her hands. It all seemed so 
brutal, so cruel, this man-hunt. She did not blame her 
brother-in-law nor the detectives. They had the public 
welfare in their hands, and Jerry O’Neil had endangered 
that welfare. They were in the right, of course; she 
wasn’t so unreasonable as all that. It wasn’t that it was 
injustice; it was just that it was— She heard again 
Frau Bertha’s voice telling of the coming of the Devil 
Wolf in the midst of her despair. She heard again the 
country lad telling of the horrors of the quicksand 
that sucked him down and the outlaw who had stopped 
in his flight from justice, the spoils of his crime still in 
his hand, to extend aid; She thought of the merry black 
eyes, the boyish voice with its careless laugh— Oh, it 
was cruel, cruel— 

There broke upon her gloomy reflections a low merry 
laugh. 

“By the Girdle of Venus!” exclaimed a well-known 
voice. “But that’s a bloodthirsty trio!” The mocking 
voice imitated Gray’s timid tones, “ ‘I shall hate to see 
him swing,’ ” adding with a laugh, “and I will wager he 
asks for a box seat when that event does come off.” 

Horror-stricken at his audacity, Eugenia sprang to her 
feet, and turned to the wall behind her. Perched lightly 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


195 


upon the wall, sitting on one foot with the other dangling 
over the side, masked, and imperturbably light-hearted 
as ever, was the Devil Wolf. In one hand, he held a 
neat black satchel, containing doubtless the contents of 
the Farmers National Bank vaults. 

“Won’t you sit down again?” he begged. “It’s more 
luck than I bargained for to find you here alone. But the 
gods favor the brave!” he added devoutly. “Why are you 
out here alone, instead of taking part in the gay, mad 
scene of revelry?” 

At that moment, Eugenia could not have uttered a 
word to save her life. It seemed to her that the waters 
of a thousand rushing rivers were roaring through her 
head. To hear him, jesting and light-hearted, and to 
think that already the law had its inexorable hand out¬ 
stretched over his head. 

“Don’t speak so loud,” he begged whimsically, as 
Eugenia persisted in her silence. “Your voice is so harsh 
and discordant that it is a torture to listen to it!” 

With an effort, Eugenia found speech again. “What 
—what have you been doing?” She wondered if her 
voice sounded as choked to him as it did to her. 

“I have been engaged in demonstrating to the Farmers 
National Bank officials that they are not so clever as they 
think they are,” he answered guilelessly. 

Eugenia’s first impulse was to laugh, but that impulse 
was conquered by a sense of the enormity of the crime he 
confessed so lightly, and she said reprovingly, “That was 
a terrible thing to do and a dangerous one. You heard 


196 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


those three men talk and you see that they are not so wit¬ 
less as you thought them. They have found out all they 
need to know, and they have gone in now to—to arrest 
you.” 

“You don’t seem to be very cheerful about it,” he said 
gravely. “According to everything that is right and just, 
you ought to be glad that they have progressed with the 
case instead of being so mournful over my approaching 
arrest. Something wrong somewhere.” He shook his 
head as though the gravity of the situation overwhelmed 
him. “The fact is, I have often wondered,” he added 
suddenly, “why you have never told all you know about 
me.” 

Eugenia was silent, and the Devil Wolf nodded. 

“That’s what I thought was the reason,” he remarked 
sagely. 

“My only motive was gratitude,” responded Eugenia 
with a haughty lift of the head. He was getting entirely 
too bold, this outlaw for whom even now three men were 
waiting with a warrant for his arrest. 

“It goes under various names,” said the Devil Wolf 
indifferently. “Gratitude is about as good as any, I 
guess. Probably, Sir Mortimer would be glad even for 
your gratitude. By the way, how is that affair going 
on? Has he offered you his coronet yet? I remember 
the last time I spoke with you on the subject, you were 
in daily expectation of his doing so.” 

“We are on Sir Mortimer’s grounds,” admonished 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


197 


Eugenia with gentle gravity, “and that is reason enough, 
I think, for not jesting about his affairs.” 

“From which I infer that he has proposed,” laughed 
the Devil Wolf boyishly. “By the White Peacocks of 
Juno! I never thought he would forget his ‘nerves’ long 
enough to do it, but you never can tell. Love is a great 
strengthener of the will, they say. Lady Eugenia Paige. 
It sounds well.” 

“It is a title I shall never wear,” responded Eugenia 
coldly. 

“You refused him! Refused the chance of sending 
Margaret Wyeth an invitation, and the chance of writing 
Lady Eugenia Paige on your At Home cards!” The 
Devil Wolf’s tone expressed a sort of wondering surprise 
not unmingled with awe. “May I ask why? Your sis¬ 
ter painted him in such glowing colors—young, hand¬ 
some, wealthy, cultured—” 

“Lazy, languid, effeminate, and conceited,” finished 
Eugenia. 

“Remember we are on Sir Mortimer’s grounds,” ad¬ 
monished the Devil Wolf primly, “and that is reason 
enough, I think, for not jesting about his affairs. Be¬ 
sides, you do him an injustice,” he went on protestingly, 
“and after telling me I must not harm a dying man. It 
is scarcely worthy of you, either as a woman or a philos¬ 
opher—certainly not as a philosopher—to become preju¬ 
diced against a man just because your sister upholds him. 
While I admit that his constant inactivity and weariness 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


198 

might become boresome, at the same time, Sir Mortimer 
Paige is a gentleman and would be a suitable match in 
every respect for a woman of culture and refinement.” 

Eugenia’s eyebrows elevated themselves a fraction of 
an inch. “May I ask just why you champion Sir Morti¬ 
mer in so knightly a manner?” she inquired sweetly. 

“Well, the truth is,” remarked the Devil Wolf modestly, 
“I was hoping you would say, ‘Why don’t you speak for 
yourself, John?’ ” 

“Well, why don’t you ?” laughed Eugenia. 

“You wouldn’t listen.” 

“Oh, I would listen!” She answered with a marked 
emphasis that implied that it would be all she would do. 

He overlooked the emphasis for, after all, it might 
have been a mere matter of elocution. 

“Well, then,” he began eagerly, and Eugenia, leaning 
comfortably against the rustic bench, composed herself 
to listen. She could not know that in the negative dark¬ 
ness of a brilliant star-lit night, she looked very enticing 
in the shimmery satin gown that fell unheeded on 
the wet grass, and the tiny chaplet of pearls resting 
on the red-gold hair. “Well, then, I have none of Sir 
Mortimer’s disqualifications, according to your catalog 
of them, and I have all of his merits. I am young— 
twenty-nine my next birthday; handsome—even the 
detectives will admit that if they ever get me; wealthy— 
I can give you at a few moments’ notice, the contents of 
any bank you happened to set your heart on; cultured—” 

“One of the best evidences of culture,” interrupted 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


199 


Eugenia in her classroom manner, “is a certain respect 
for the property rights of others.” 

“I never had it,” sighed the Devil Wolf with feigned 
remorse. 

‘Then I hope they catch you,” scolded Eugenia inex¬ 
orably. “You certainly deserve to be hanged just as they 
have planned to do. I don’t feel a bit sorry for you.” 

“I was hoping you would,” he said timidly. “You see, 
that—er—vault-door shut on my wrist. It hurts dread¬ 
fully.” He pulled back the sleeve of his coat, brought 
out of his pocket a tiny flashlight, and showed her a little 
open wound on his right wrist. It was a negligible wound 
and Eugenia refused to regard it with any great amount 
of sympathy. 

“A little cold water will relieve it,” she said uncommis- 
eratingly. “Have you a handkerchief?” 

“The only one I have,” explained the Devil Wolf 
frankly, “has a monogram in the corner.” 

“I didn’t ask you what your name is!” flashed Eu¬ 
genia. “Besides,” she added loftily, “I know and you 
know that I know. Never mind, I will use my own.” 

She opened the tiny little beaded bag that hung from 
her wrist and brought out her handkerchief, but with it, 
she brought out something else—a slip of white paper, 
that fluttered to the grass and lay there. Eugenia stooped 
to retrieve it, when a capricious little night breeze as 
though sent by a laughing Fate, caught and whirled it 
out of sight. Eugenia gave a startled little gasp and 
pursued, but the white satin dress tripped her, and she 


200 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


almost fell. In a moment, the Devil Wolf had leaped 
down from the wall and was standing beside her, flash¬ 
light in hand. He seemed to give no thought to the 
danger of his position, but Eugenia was not so careless. 

“Get back over the wall,” she pleaded. “I can find it 
alone. What if someone should come?” 

“We will find the paper first. Was it very im¬ 
portant?” 

“A letter from—er—from a very dear friend,” she 
explained. “Fd hate to have anyone else see it.” 

“Oh, it was that kind of a letter, was it?” he teased. 

Cautiously, he manipulated the little stream of light 
here and there on the soft grass. The night wind had 
not carried the slip of paper far and they found it on the 
other side of the hawthorn bush; but the Fate that had 
brought the wind, had also unfolded the paper and it fell 
face up. The flashlight revealed for one merciless second 
or two the writing and the signature. The writing was 
printed and the signature was a roughly drawn wolf. 
It was the letter she had received from the Devil Wolf the 
day after her arrival in Willowlake. Eugenia pounced 
upon it; her face was flaming and she was glad for the 
the darkness. 

“A letter from a very dear friend,” murmured the 
Devil Wolf as though talking to himself. 

“Let me wash your wrist,” said Eugenia hastily, cram¬ 
ming the note into her bag, and plunging her handkerchief 
into the cool waters of the tinkling little fountain. She 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


201 


was awkward enough at the task, for her hand trembled 
as it touched his. 

“There!” she said, not without a certain embarrassment. 
“That will do nicely. And—and you ought not to stay 
here. It is not so isolated as you suppose. Almost any 
moment someone may come/’ There was an anxiety in 
her voice that struck pleasantly on the ear of the Devil 
Wolf. 

“By the Lyre of Orpheus!” he swore softly. “I really 
believe you are the only person in Willowlake who is 
anxious for me to escape instead of hunting me down.” 

“You wouldn’t have to be hunted down,” accused 
Eugenia with asperity, “if you chose to lead an honest 
existence.” 

“But just think,” he pleaded with a return of the boy¬ 
ishness, “of all the dull and stupid men you know who 
are leading an honest existence.” 

“And I suppose you think you are not dull and stupid,” 
said Eugenia sarcastically. 

“ They have sharpened their tongue like the serpent; 
adder’s poison is under their lips. Selah,’ ” he quoted 
gravely. 

Even while Eugenia laughed, she was conscious of a 
wistful something underneath all the humor and boyish¬ 
ness, and it was that which made her impulsively take 
a step nearer and lay one hand on his arm. He had 
not remounted the wall, but stood there in front of her, 
the little black satchel at his feet. 


202 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“You had better go now,” she said warningly, “and 
do not go in where they are waiting. You heard all that 
they said. There is no mercy in them tonight, for the 
Government is demanding you of them. They are back 
there now, waiting for you to come.” 

“That is the reason I must go in,” he murmured, “be¬ 
cause they are waiting for me.” 

In her fear for him, Eugenia threw all caution to the 
winds. “Mr. O’Neil,” she began, and the Devil Wolf 
started. Perhaps he had not thought that she really knew 
him. “Mr. O’Neil,” she said earnestly, “there are three 
of us in Willowlake, who will be sorry to see you termi¬ 
nate your career on—on the gallows. Frau Bertha, the 
little country boy whom you pulled out of the quicksand 
one night, and who prays for you, and—and myself; and 
we three know what all Willowlake does not guess—that 
you are not wholly given to crime, that your soul is only 
shadowed by it, not—not blackened. I would hate to 
think it was blackened, and so would Frau Bertha. Don’t 
go back to Sir Mortimer’s house tonight; take the road 
to The Hills and stay there until you can escape safely. 
Please!” 

There was a moment’s silence; then, “By the Shallop of 
Diana, the Moon-Maiden! why should you care?” he 
asked softly. 

“I would hate to see anybody hanged,” she answered 
earnestly, “who had done me a favor.” 

“I thought you would manage to let Little Gratitude 
make its appearance again.” He laughed bitterly. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


203 


“Little Gratitude, the Child-Wonder!” He picked up 
the black satchel and, as though fully intending to leave 
without another word, vaulted lightly over the wall. 
But once over the wall, he paused and looked back. Eu¬ 
genia, feeling deeply the sting of his last words, turned 
away from the wall as though to go back to the house, 
but now she, too, turned around, so the two glances met, 
and while the darkness hid much, yet it revealed enough 
to draw Eugenia slowly back to the wall. Perhaps she 
felt reasonably safe in view of the three feet of solid 
stone and mortar which reared itself between them. 
But what is three feet of stone and mortar? A mere 
nothing. 

“You are going in?” she asked softly. 

“They are waiting for me,” was the answer, as though 
that explained everything. 

“They will have no mercy upon you.” 

“But they are waiting for me,” he insisted. 

“Do you always go where people wait for you?’ 

“Where they have the faith I will come, like the little 
detective has, yes.” 

“Out there,” she pointed to the road that stretched its 
dark length before them, and her voice was the voice of 
a temptress, “out there, lie The Hills. They are mys¬ 
terious and silent and hold dark secrets.” 

“But you forget,” he pleaded softly, “that they are 
waiting in there to arrest me.” 

“Oh, of course, if you want to be hanged!” 

“I don’t want to be hanged.” He shivered a little in 


204 THE DEVIL WOLF 

the warm night air. “But, at least, it is a fit ending to 
the farce.” 

“There are other endings,” cried Eugenia eagerly, “but 
you could only find them by taking the road to The 
Hills.” 

He had been leaning against the wall, his back to her, 
and his two elbows resting on the moss-covered stones: 
now he abandoned that position and turning, faced her. 
Suddenly, she felt her two hands imprisoned in his own 
strong ones, and behind the black mask were two eyes 
regarding her steadily. They were not twinkling in 
boyish mirth and mischief, but were burning with the 
earnest light of a man for whom mirth does not exist. 

“Why are you so anxious that I take the road to The 
Hills and do not go back to be arrested and hanged? 
Why have you never told what you know about me to 
your brother-in-law or your sister ? I never asked you to 
keep silent. Why have you refused to marry Sir Morti¬ 
mer Paige, when that marriage would not only give you 
a courtly, cultured husband, but wealth, affluence, posi¬ 
tion? Why do you carry my note around with you in¬ 
stead of consigning it to the flames? Why should you, 
a professor of philosophy in an eastern college, feel no 
sense of horror at holding intercourse with me, an outlaw 
with a price on his head? And—and,” he panted, “if 
you tell me it is because you are grateful to me, Ell— 

ru—” 

“It isn’t because I am grateful,” answered Eugenia 
weakly. “It is because—” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


205 


Her eyes tried to withstand the light and power of his, 
but failing, lowered themselves in what Eugenia would 
have denied was surrender and would probably have 
called philosophical submission. 

A three-foot stone wall serves absolutely no purpose. 
It is seldom a thing of beauty and never useful. It can¬ 
not keep anybody out, for what marauder is daunted by 
a three-foot wall, and it assuredly, by the same token, 
cannot keep anybody in. What possible purpose can a 
three-foot wall serve? 

Some such thought might perhaps have found its way 
into Eugenia’s philosophically trained mind, if that mind 
had not been engaged, most unphilosophically, in thinking 
how firm and masterful a pair of lips can feel, even be¬ 
hind the silken fringe of a mask. 

She made one despairing effort to regain philosophical 
poise and assurance, failed utterly, and wrenching her 
hand free, sped through the darkness to the house. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


On the veranda, she collided with Jane, who had evi¬ 
dently been looking for her. At sight of her calm, prac¬ 
tical, unromantic older sister, Eugenia felt a great relief, 
and contrary to the usual placidity of her nature, almost 
threw herself into Jane’s arms. 

“Merciful Heavens, child!” exclaimed that little ma¬ 
tron. “What’s the matter?” 

“I was out in the garden alone,” stammered Eugenia, 
“and—and something frightened me!” 

“And it serves you exactly right,” scolded Jane. “Of 
all the unpardonable rudeness! Mr. Chandler has been 
looking everywhere for you.” 

“The night was so lovely,” pleaded Eugenia, feeling her 
trepidation vanish before her sister’s reproaches. “Is 
this the third or fourth dance?” 

“It is the fifth,” replied Jane witheringly. “You had 
the third with Mr. Perkins and the fourth with young 
Fordyce. They are both thoroughly disgusted with you 
and they have cause to be. You were to dance this dance 
with that Chandler man I introduced to you. He is in 
the conservatory. Of all the rudeness—” 

Eugenia heard no more, having escaped through the 
little door leading to Sir Mortimer’s tiny conservatory, 
where she found “the Chandler man” sitting disconso- 
206 



THE DEVIL WOLF 


207 


lately on a marble bench. He was a tall, lanky individual 
with no other virtue than a pronounced shyness, and an 
imposing bank account. She apologized to him sweetly, 
murmured something about fatigue, the heat of the 
rooms, and a headache, and begged to be excused. It 
was granted with an unflattering willingness that made 
Eugenia imagine he was as glad to get out of it as she 
was. 

Relieved at not being compelled to dance in her present 
confused state of mind, Eugenia made her way into the 
ballroom. At the entrance, she encountered Sir Morti¬ 
mer just returning from his room. The baronet looked 
ill enough, thought Eugenia, with a bit of sympathy, as 
she saw the white face and dark weary eyes. 

“I trust you are feeling better,” she said gently. 

“I have recovered, I thank you,” was the quiet re¬ 
sponse, as he offered her his arm. 

The ballroom presented the same whirling scene of 
gayety as it had when Eugenia had left it an hour before, 
only now the gayety and the dancing was at its height. 
She looked around eagerly—the Devil Wolf was nowhere 
to be seen. 4 

Just then Margaret Wyeth, catching sight of her, came 
forward, asking eagerly, “Have you seen my brother 
Jerry, Eugenia?” 

“No, Margaret,” she responded quietly, but for all the 
quietness of the voice, she felt the blood leap into her 
cheeks at the name. Margaret noted the color, and won¬ 
dered. It did not seem possible to her that anyone, given 


208 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


the chance of becoming Lady Paige, could even deign a 
glance at her brother. 

“He has my fan with him,” she pouted, “and he has 
been gone almost an hour. Have you seen him, Sir 
Mortimer?” 

“No, Miss Wyeth, but—” he paused and looked to¬ 
ward the other side of the room, “here he is now.” 

Sir Mortimer felt his arm clutched by the little hand 
that had rested so lightly there, but looking down saw 
that Eugenia was not aware of her action. She was 
staring across the room at Jerry O’Neil, who, laughing 
and jesting, was making his way toward them. He had 
removed the heavy silken-fringed mask, but the hand¬ 
some, boyish face showed no anxiety, no fear, and Eu¬ 
genia, shivering for him, and wishing with all her heart 
he had taken the road to The Hills, yet felt glad and 
proud of his courage. He caught sight of her, but the 
black eyes gave no sign that he remembered anything that 
had happened out in the garden, some twenty minutes 
before, because an architect had made a stone wall only 
three feet high. 

“Your sister has been looking for you, O’Neil,” re¬ 
marked Sir Mortimer to the newcomer, and with a nod of 
greeting to Eugenia, Jerry turned to his sister. 

“What’s up, Maggie?” he asked lightly. 

From a corner behind two palms, Eugenia saw the two 
gray dominos emerge followed by a third, her brother- 
in-law. She wanted to shriek, but all sound died in her 
throat, and Sir Mortimer felt his arm clutched again. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


209 


He looked down at his companion whose face, in white¬ 
ness, rivalled his own, and then he sighed. He was not 
wholly devoid of understanding. 

To Eugenia, what followed always seemed a dream, a 
horrible dream in which she stood there grasping Sir 
Mortimer’s arm, and thankful to have even that weak 
support. There were two or three things that stood out 
from all the others, but they were undetached; it was as 
though a fog had rolled down between her and the rest of 
that gay throng. 

She saw Roberts, looking incongruously unlike a de¬ 
tective in the long gray robe, come quietly up to Jerry 
O’Neil, lay his big hand on the young man’s shoulder and 
heard his booming voice, “We arrest you, Jerry O’Neil, 
for the robbery of the Farmers National Bank tonight, 
and for all crimes committed by the bandit known as the 
Devil Wolf!” 

She heard her brother-in-law’s sad, “I am sorry about 
this, Jerry”; then the timid voice of Gray saying wist¬ 
fully, “I am sure you only did it for the pleasure of play¬ 
ing the Devil Wolf.” There followed Mr. Wyeth’s, 
“My God! my wife’s son!” and Margaret’s wild shriek 
of protest, “No, no, Jerry, no, no!” 

Then all was still. 

It was Sir Mortimer’s voice, stern with outraged dig¬ 
nity, that broke the silence. 

“If you will kindly inform me what this means,” he 
said icily, turning to Roberts. 

The huge detective for once was apologetic. “We had 


210 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


intended to tell you, sir, but you stayed away so long. 
We thought perhaps you would not return tonight, so 
had to take our chance. Willowlake won’t be worried 
and harassed any longer by the Devil Wolf.” 

“Tell them you didn’t do it, brother,” moaned Mar¬ 
garet, “Oh, tell them you didn’t do it.” 

“I didn’t!” retorted Jerry, turning to the officer whose 
heavy hand still rested on his shoulder. “There is some 
mistake here. I am not the Devil Wolf.” 

“Perhaps he is not,” suggested the prosecuting attor¬ 
ney in a whisper. There was a hopeful note in his voice. 
In spite of Jane’s lectures, he had always liked Jerry. 

“We’ll soon find out,” returned Roberts. “Where 
were you,” he asked the young man solemnly, “during 
the past hour which you did not spend here in the ball¬ 
room?” 

For one moment, Jerry O’Neil’s glance rested on Eu¬ 
genia; then he shrugged his shoulders. “Find out,” he 
advised the detective lightly. 

“Tell them, Jerry,” implored Margaret, throwing her 
arms around her brother’s neck. “You know you did 
not rob that bank tonight; tell them where you were.” 

“I can’t, honey,” he whispered soothingly. 

“But you didn’t leave here in order to steal, did you, 
Jerry?” 

His face reddened slightly, and he turned away from 
her. 

“I think you had better come with us,” advised Rob¬ 
erts gruffly. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


211 


Jerry threw back his head truculently. “Although I 
cannot answer your question as to my whereabouts for 
the past hour, officer, there is some mistake here, ,, he 
remonstrated. “Why, I didn’t even know the Farmers 
National Bank was robbed.” 

“Where were you?” asked the detective bluntly. 

“Just because I can’t tell you that,” cried Jerry in an 
exasperated tone, “is no sign that I am your old Devil 
Wolf.” 

“We will take a chance,” retorted the other grimly. 

“But I tell you you are making a mistake,” Jerry in¬ 
sisted, “and one you will be sorry for. Are you basing 
your suspicions on the fact that I masqueraded tonight 
as the Devil Wolf? It’s perfectly absurd. There’s a 
fellow dressed like Captain Kidd. Why don’t you sus¬ 
pect him?” 

“Where were you?” was the inexorable question. 

“There will be a suit for libel for this,” stormed Jerry. 
“I am not a thie—” He encountered Eugenia’s gaze and 
the word died on his lips. He turned to Roberts and his 
voice was quieter. “This is the third time someone has 
been arrested for the Devil Wolf, and each time the 
Devil Wolf has solved the problem in his own way. 
Take care that you don’t ro'use him to some act that will 
prove my innocence.” 

“With you in the Willowlake jail,” was Robert’s grim 
response, “some of the banks around here will be safe, I 
reckon.” 

“They will hang him,” moaned Margaret. 


212 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Jerry, are you this outlaw they call the Devil Wolf?” 
asked Mr. Wyeth sternly. “Is your mother’s son a 
thief?” 

Jerry boldly encountered his stepfather’s look. “I am 
not the Devil Wolf, sir.” 

“Then why do you not reply to the officer's question 
as to where you were tonight?” 

Jerry visibly squirmed, and this time he did not look in 
the older man’s face. Instead he turned to Roberts. 

“I am not the Devil Wolf,” he said in a low voice, “but 
I am not afraid to go with you. You can put me in jail, 
if you want to. The Devil Wolf will show you which of 
us is right. Let’s go.” 

He did not glance at Eugenia in passing her, and she 
was grateful for that. 

The departure of Jerry in the custody of the two de¬ 
tectives was the signal for an uproar. Jane came over 
to Eugenia who stood white-faced and silent beside Sir 
Mortimer. 

“I always told you he was no good,” whispered the 
older sister, “although I never suspected it was as bad as 
this.” 

“Don’t, Jane,” implored Eugenia in a low voice. 

Without paying any heed to her sister’s entreaty, Jane 
turned to Sir Mortimer. “It is a shame this should 
have occurred at your party, Sir Mortimer. So dis¬ 
graceful.” 

“It is a shame it should have occurred at all,” was the 
reply. “We can only hope that things will turn out as he 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


213 

seems to think—that the Devil Wolf—if he himself is not 
the Devil Wolf—will prove his innocence.” 

Oh, he is the Devil Wolf, all right,” Jane assured 
him. “Now that I think about it, it is a wonder we did 
not suspect him before, for he has always been wild. I 

am only sorry for his father and sister. Poor Mar¬ 
garet!” 

At that moment, Margaret Wyeth, in company with 
her father, came over to Sir Mortimer. 

“My daughter is ill, Sir Mortimer,” said Mr. Wyeth, 
“and I think I had better take her home. I can only say 
that I am sorry this has occurred. It has come to us as 
a shock. I wish to extend my apology to you on behalf 
of my—my wife’s son.” It could be seen by all what it 
cost him to say it. 

“There is no need of that,” responded Sir Mortimer 
courteously. “Nothing is proved yet, you know.” 

“Thank you,” said the other with a grateful look. “It 
is kind of you to take that attitude. But there has been 
much in Jerry’s manner of late, as I look back on it now, 
to render the suspicion almost a certainty.” 

“Oh, don’t, Papa,” begged Margaret tearfully, “and 
poor Jerry in prison.” 

She burst away from her father’s arm and came over 
to Eugenia. “Oh, Eugenia, won’t you come home with 
me tonight? There is only Papa and Aunt Elmira, and 
I know they will talk about Jerry all night. Do come, 
Eugenia. If I don’t have someone to talk to, I will go 
crazy! Please!” 


214 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


It was in Eugenia’s mind to refuse, for she wanted 
nothing so much as to be alone tonight, but one glance at 
the tear-stained face and tragic eyes made her throw a 
questioning glance at her sister. 

“Of course, you can go, Eugenia,” answered Jane 
pleasantly. “Margaret needs someone, and Arthur will 
call for you in the morning.” 

“But my dress—” 

“You and Margaret are of a size, child, and she will 
lend you one of hers, I am sure. Margaret, dear, now 
do try to calm yourself. Make her go directly to bed. 
Mr. Wyeth, and, Eugenia, don’t you and Margaret sit up 
talking until all hours of the night.” 

Thus commanding, Jane succeeded, after the necessary 
courteous remarks to Sir Mortimer, in getting them out 
of the ballroom where the guests had already gathered in 
small groups excitedly discussing the affair. The gen¬ 
eral consensus of opinion was that Jerry was the Devil 
Wolf, and though everybody felt sorry that it should be 
the most genial and best liked of all the young men, there 
was a general feeling of thankfulness that the mystery 
was cleared. 

During the ride to Mr. Wyeth’s residence, a large 
stucco and brick house on one of Mayfair’s prettiest 
streets, no word was spoken by the three occupants of the 
automobile. Mr. Wyeth sat in shamed silence, thinking 
of his dead wife and glad that she had not lived to see 
her only son hanged as a thief; Eugenia, who had been 
expecting the arrest, found it nevertheless a very tragic 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


215 


affair indeed, and thought of the Devil Wolf’s laughter, 
his jests, and the kiss exchanged over the three foot wall; 
while Margaret huddled up in one corner and her sisterly 
sobs were the only sound that broke the silence. 

That night, while Mr. Wyeth sat in his library with 
Aunt Elmira and thought of plans by which Jerry might, 
at least, for the sake of the family honor, be saved from 
the gallows, Eugenia sat beside Margaret’s bed and tried 
to soothe the girl. 

'‘But you don’t understand, Eugenia,” Margaret cried 
excitedly. “J err y couldn’t possibly be the Devil Wolf. 
I know he has always been wild and never did like to 
work, but he isn’t bad, not even Papa will say he is bad. 
I have talked about him myself and scolded him lots of 
times, but I always admitted that he was good at heart, 
and he could not possibly be that Devil Wolf person. 
Oh, Eugenia, will they hang him?” 

“Let us not worry about that until the trial comes off, 
dear,” said Eugenia soothingly. “If you would only try 
to sleep, child.” 

“But I can’t sleep,” sobbed Margaret. “I keep think¬ 
ing of Jerry. He was always the kindest brother. Eu¬ 
genia, did I ever tell you about that time he took the 
whipping for me? I broke Papa’s meerschaum pipe he 
had brought from Europe when he was just a student over 
there, and it was the dearest thing he possessed. Papa 
was so angry and threatened to whip the one who did it. 
Jerry knew I was the one, but he— Oh, Eugenia, he 
told Papa he had broken it, and Papa whipped him 


216 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


terribly. He told me afterwards that a boy could take 
a whipping better than a girl, and—and— Oh, Eugenia, 
will they hang him, do you think ?” 

“Don’t, Margaret,” pleaded Eugenia. 

“But I can’t help but think of all the things he has ever 
done for me,” replied Margaret wearily. “I just seem to 
forget all the things he did that weren’t good and remem¬ 
ber only those that were. There was the time he whipped 
the boys who were snowballing me. I was just a little 
bit of a thing, about nine years old, and I was sledding on 
that big hill back of Letson’s farm. Some big boys came 
along and thought how much fun it would be to snowball 
me. Then Jerry came around the corner and when he 
saw what they were doing and that it was his sister they 
were snowballing, he ran right at them, and some of them 
were larger than he was, too. He got licked, of course, 
but it was all in the intention! Oh, I can’t bear to think 
of their hanging him!” 

But after a while, Eugenia, worn-out herself, succeeded 
in getting Margaret asleep and then lay down beside her, 
for Margaret had insisted on not sleeping alone. But the 
sleep that had finally come to Margaret’s tear-swollen 
eyes, fled from Eugenia, and she lay there going over the 
entire matter. 

That Jerry stood in danger of being convicted, she 
knew. There were the Creektown and Eldridge affairs, 
six banks robbed, the pay rolls of two large factories 
taken from messengers in broad daylight, and the insult 
to the Government itself in the person of its representa- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


217 


tives, whom he had defied in order to retrieve her hand¬ 
kerchief. There was no hope for an acquittal, she knew, 
and doubtless Jerry knew it. 

She thought of Margaret’s little confessions, and how 
delightfully like the Devil Wolf they were. Taking a 
whipping for a little sister, seeking to defend her against 
rough boys, savored of what he had done for Frau Ber¬ 
tha, and the little country lad whom he had pulled out of 
the quicksand. 

She longed suddenly for Frau Bertha and resolved that 
tomorrow she would go out there to the foot of The Hills 
and see what the little German widow had to say about it. 
She would quote Uncle Hermann, of course, and rain 
down maledictions on the head of the “law men of the 
Government,” but together perhaps they could help Jerry 
in some way. Or, perhaps—the thought came suddenly 
to her out of the darkness—perhaps Jerry did not need 
any help. The man who could successfully commit the 
crimes the Devil Wolf had committed and then make a 
safe escape as he had done so many times, was not one 
to have no resources at his command. 

What had he said to Roberts, “Take care that you don’t 
rouse him to some action that will prove my innocence.” 
The Willowlake jail was modern, she knew, and its bolts 
and locks were strong, but Jerry O’Neil was the Devil 
Wolf, and the Devil Wolf was full of resources. 

It was in the doubtful comfort of this reflection that 
she finally fell asleep. 

And that night the Merchants Trust Company of Ver- 


2l8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


sailles, six miles south, was robbed of $2,000, and the 
watchman, found gagged and bound in one corner of the 
vault, could only whisper, “The Devil Wolf” before he 
fainted. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


The next morning, all Willowlake was in an uproar, 
for never in the history of the little town had anything 
like this occurred. It had gone to bed the night before, 
secure in the belief that now at last the dreaded Devil 
Wolf was snared and they need no longer fear to go 
abroad at night or to place their hard-earned savings in 
the local banks; but now all their joy was turned to bit¬ 
terness. 

Questions flew thick and fast from street-corner to 
street-corner. Was Jerry O’Neil the Devil Wolf, and if 
not, where did he go that night? And if it were on an 
honest mission, why.did he not say what it was? If he 
were the Devil Wolf, who was this other depredator just 
as bold and apparently just as much to be dreaded? Was 
there a colony of Devil Wolves somewhere in The Hills, 
or was Jerry O’Neil innocent, and the real Devil Wolf 
still nosing around Willowlake ? 

Mothers clutched their children and bade them “stay 
indoors, or the Devil Wolf will get you.” 

Men stood about, grave-eyed and earnest, discussing 
this new complication of affairs, and in the Willowlake 
jail, Jerry O’Neil grinned at the turnkey who brought 
him the news, and said with a laugh, “I told you so. 

Now, when do I go home?” 

219 


220 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Well, I guess we haven’t any reason for keeping you 
here any longer,” was the dubious response, “but you will 
probably have to stay now until the chief comes with the 
detectives.” 

It was ten o’clock before they came, Roberts and Gray 
in company with Arthur Wilbur, the chief of police, and 
the sheriff. On Wilbur’s part, there was sincere pleasure 
and he showed it in his hearty handclasp. 

“I am glad, Jerry,” he said emphatically, “although it 
still leaves us with the same old problem on our hands.” 

“I told you I wasn’t the Devil Wolf, and I also told 
you he would prove that I was not. We have lived with 
him longer than you have, gentlemen,” he grinned at the 
two detectives, “and we know him for a man who will 
not let another take the blame for his own sins. The 
Devil Wolf is a gentleman—of the first water.” 

“But where did you go from Sir Mortimer’s?” asked 
Gray timidly. 

A slight flush appeared in Jerry’s cheeks, but he said 
haughtily, “Since I am proved not to be the Devil Wolf, 
I think I do not have to answer that question.” 

There was quite an ovation for him when he left the 
jail, but to do Jerry justice, he put all the greetings aside 
and hastened home to his sister Margaret. In his own 
idle way, Margaret was dear to him. 

When she heard Jerry coming, Margaret only waited 
long enough to throw a dressing gown over her night¬ 
dress, and barefoot and with rumbled hair, flung herself, 
sobbing with delight, into her brother’s arms. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


221 


“I didn’t think you cared that much, Maggie,” was her 
brother’s gruff remark, as he hugged the weeping girl. 

He shook hands with his stepfather, who also did not 
endeavor to hide his joy, kissed his Aunt Elmira, and 
then saw Eugenia, clad in one of Margaret’s frilly sum¬ 
mer frocks. The night had had only fitful slumber in 
store for her and she had arisen early. 

“Miss Eugenia, I hope you are glad I am not going 
to dangle at the end of a rope,” Jerry asked lightly. 

Sincerely glad, she gave him her hand and looked long 
into his eyes. There was a question in her eyes, but there 
was no answer in his. Then it was that the truth dawned 
upon her. Jerry O’Neil was not the Devil Wolf. Wher¬ 
ever he had gone during his absence from Sir Mortimer’s 
party, he had not been out in the garden with her, and 
it was not his lips which had met hers over the three 
foot wall. 

She remembered now that when she had called the 
Devil Wolf Mr. O’Neil, he had not denied it, but she 
also remembered that he had started back as though a bit 
surprised. But he had let her go on thinking he was 
Jerry O’Neil. 

She felt unphilosophically angry against this blithe 
young man who, after all, had not gone in to be arrested. 
Or, had he gone in but had the detectives made the same 
mistake as herself? It must be that. The Devil Wolf 
was no coward. He had said he was going in to be 
arrested, and he had gone in. That they had not arrested 
him was their own fault. He had been there. He had 


222 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


let Jerry O’Neil be arrested because he knew he could 
prove his innocence and he had done so. That the 
Merchants Trust Company of Versailles had been the one 
to suffer, probably did not cause him to lose any sleep. 
But who was he? Jerry O’Neil was the only man in 
all Willowlake who answered the description of the Devil 
Wolf. His was the laugh, the voice, the mannerisms, 
but there was no disregarding the proof that Jerry O’Neil 
was not the Devil Wolf. He was not and that was all 
there was to it. 

In her present state of mind, it was torture to be 
compelled to endure Jerry’s tempestuous wooing. Had 
there still hung around him the nimbus of romantic 
daring and almost unbelievable courage, it would have 
been a pleasure to listen; now, Jerry O’Neil had developed 
into merely a boyish and ardent young lover and the 
glory of it was gone. She was glad when Arthur came 
and drove her home to Jane. 

She found Jane divided between two 'great worries. 

“My dear, I don’t know when I was so worried as I 
am this morning,” she confided to her younger sister. 
“Of course, I am glad for Margaret’s sake that Jerry is 
innocent, but I must confess that I was glad to have the 
matter settled. Now, Arthur is all up in the air again. 
The poor boy! If this goes on, he will be snow-white 
within another month. But that isn’t my greatest 
worry, because, of course, those two detectives will 
simply have to start all over again, and it serves them 
right, too. They should be certain of a person’s guilt 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


223 

before they make any arrests. But what do you think 
has happened?” 

“Mercy, what?” 

“The petition for the closing of the dance halls is gone, 
Eugenia! I can’t find it anywhere.” 

“Oh, is that all? You have mislaid it somewhere. 
Did you look in your desk?” 

“That is where I had it, but it is gone. All four lists 
are gone. I must find it, for a week from Monday Mr. 
Wyeth must present it at the meeting of the board of 
commissioners.” 

“I thought it was something important,” sighed 
Eugenia. 

“Important? Of course, it is important, Eugenia!” 
cried Jane. “No one wants all the trouble to get that 
list of names again. Besides, we haven’t time with Mike 
O’Reilly almost due from his vacation, and I can’t imagine 
where it has gone. I certainly always keep my desk 
locked.” 

“Blame it on the Devil Wolf,” advised Eugenia 
wearily. “It has grown into a general custom now to 
put the blame for everything on his shoulders. Only the 
other day I heard old Mrs. Brandon say that it was no 
wonder her rheumatism was so bad, worried as she was 
about the Devil Wolf.” 

“Well, I’ve got to find it before Miss Cartright dis¬ 
covers it is gone. She will certainly be angry if she has 
to do the work all over again. Besides, the next time 
it will not be so easy for us, for I hear the factory people 


224 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


are getting up a petition of their own and getting some 
influential signatures, too.” 

“Perhaps Sir Mortimer will even sign,” hinted Eu¬ 
genia, more in mischief than because she really thought it. 

“How can you say such a thing, Eugenia,” remonstrated 
Jane. “Sir Mortimer is too refined and cultured even 
to harbor the idea of associating himself with that class 
of people.” 

“He wasn’t too refined and cultured to refuse Margaret 
Wyeth when she asked him to sign.” 

“That is because he doesn’t like Margaret Wyeth and 
one can’t blame the poor man, seeing the way she has run 
after him ever since he came here. In that way, you are 
right, Eugenia,” she commended, “to hold off, although 
sometimes I think you overdo it. What was Sir Morti¬ 
mer saying to you when you were both in the little alcove 
above the dance room last night?” 

The direct and unexpected question confused Eugenia 
somewhat, used as she was to Jane’s outspokenness. 
“Mercy, Jane!” she cried, “Weren’t you attending to your 
guests ?” 

“When I chaperon an unmarried younger sister to a 
fancy dress ball,” said Jane sarcastically, “I generally 
know where she is and what she is doing.” 

For one awful moment, Eugenia thought of the dark 
garden, the Devil Wolf, and the kiss exchanged over the 
three-foot wall, and wondered what Jane would say if 
she knew just how little her chaperonage was worth. 

“We were discussing Juliet, and whether she would 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


225 


have been happier had she married Paris,” she answered. 

Jane ceased rummaging in her desk and turned aston¬ 
ished eyes to her sister, “Eugenia, are you telling me the 
truth?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die!” was the flippant 
answer. “He said he could not see why Juliet would 
choose the romantic Romeo when she could have had 
Paris, plus the family approval, and I told him that if I 
had been Juliet, neither Romeo nor Paris would have had 
any interest for me.” 

“And I was certain he was going to propose to you,” 
sighed Jane regretfully. “I had that Juliet dress made 
on purpose and you looked—well, Eugenia, you couldn’t 
have looked lovelier.” 

“Thank you, dear. Whenever I want a frank, candid, 
and truthful statement, without any flattery, I will always 
come to you.” 

Jane made no reply to the obvious sarcasm, but pulled 
out the last little drawer in her desk, and searched it 
despairingly. She turned hopeless eyes to her uncon¬ 
cerned sister. 

“Eugenia, the list has been stolen! It’s gone!” 

“I knew you would reach that conclusion sooner or 
later, Jane. Do you think it is the Devil Wolf? Al¬ 
though what he would want—” 

“Oh, do be serious! Of course, not the Devil Wolf. 
But that factory crowd is capable of almost anything, 
and you know the house was absolutely empty last night.” 

“Now, Jane, you know none of them would carry the 


226 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


matter so far as to break into a house,” said Eugenia 
seriously. 

“That’s all you know about it,” retorted Jane scorn¬ 
fully. “They would break down the gate of heaven 
to get hold of that petition.” 

“More than likely, Jane, you threw out the lists with 
those old papers you told Katie to burn day before yes¬ 
terday. Do you remember ? When you cleaned out your 
desk?” 

“I had forgotten,” answered Jane despairingly. “Do 
you think I did, Eugenia ?” 

“I am sure of it, Jane,” responded her sister. “And 
now that they are gone, for Heaven’s sake, drop the whole 
matter and let the poor people have their dance halls in 
peace.” 

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” responded Jane crisply. 
Then she suddenly wilted, “But, Oh, Gracious! What 
will Miss Cartright say?” 

In the meantime, in the mahogany furnished directors’ 
room of the Merchants Trust Company, five men were 
discussing a very serious problem. 

“And do you think,” the heavy rumbling voice of 
Roberts was rendered doubly exasperating by its sar¬ 
castic inflection, “that any outlaw as shrewd as this Devil 
Wolf would walk into a trap, even granting that we were 
able to find the wherewithal to bait one?” 

The question was levelled at Arthur Wilbur, who had 
proposed the solution. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


227 

“It is the only thing left for us to do,” the prosecuting 
attorney replied sharply. 

“I agree with Mr. Roberts,” said the sheriff. “The 
Devil Wolf is no man’s fool.” 

“He would scent an ambush a mile away,” added 
the chief of Willowlake’s police, a red-faced man with 
blinking eyes. 

“But he would walk into it,” piped up the bashful 
voice of Gray, who had not joined the group around the 
glass-topped table, but had stationed himself at one of the 
windows overlooking Versailles’ main thoroughfare. 

“What!” exploded Roberts, turning to his colleague. 

“Let me explain,” went on Gray with childish meekness. 
“Mr. Wilbur is the only one who has the right idea about 
the Devil Wolf. The rest of you have a mistaken im¬ 
pression about him. I have tried to explain it to Roberts 
any number of times, but he can’t seem to understand. 
We have made the mistake of insisting upon looking for 
a man who might be in need of money and who might 
benefit by robbing a bank. That is the reason we felt so 
sure about young O’Neil. But that view is wrong. I 
should say that the Devil Wolf is the only man in Willow- 
lake who doesn’t need to rob to get money. He has a 
fairly good income. We are all looking for a deep-dyed- 
in-the-wool outlaw who hit upon the role of the Devil 
Wolf in order to rob. Let’s turn around now and look 
for a man who robs in order to play the Devil Wolf. We 
will come nearer to finding him. If you baited a trap 
for the Devil Wolf, he would walk into it; not for the 


228 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


sake of the money, but for the sake of the trap. He is 
an adventurer; it is the adventure that draws him, not 
the profits from the adventure. Bait the trap with a 
rag-doll and he will risk death to get the rag-doll. I 
know how wild and insane it sounds,” as he noticed 
Roberts' impatient shake of the head, “but I believe it is 
the truth. If you baited the trap and set ten men in 
ambush, he would walk into it with great joy; and if you 
put one hundred men around it, he would walk into it -with 
ten times that joy. It would be a point of honor with 
him to do it. And,” for a moment the faint trace of a 
grin banished the childish expression from his face, “I 
am not sure but what he would get the bait!” 

“I don’t believe the Devil Wolf is any such a romantic 
character as that,” blurted out the chief of police. “It 
may be, though,” with a touch of irony, “that Mr. Gray 
has chosen his man.” 

“No,” sighed the little man. “I am perfectly sure of 
what I say, but I have not yet located in Willowlake any 
man who fits the description.” 

“Because there is none,” finished the other tri¬ 
umphantly. “You may think as you like, gentlemen, but 
for my part, this outlaw is an experienced robber who 
robs for the sake of the yellow coin he takes.” 

“But he disproves that himself!” cried Gray eagerly. 
“There were $27,000 in currency in the vaults of this bank 
last night. Why did he only take $2,000 of it? There 
were $33,000 in the vaults of the Farmers National, the 
night of Sir Mortimer’s ball. Why did he only take 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


229 


$5,o°o? In the Mayfair robbery, there were $23,500 in 
cash and currency, and twice as much in negotiable 
securities. He took $3,000. Why? If it were a desire 
for money, he could have taken all the money in those 
three banks just as easily as he took what he did take. 
Have you stopped to think of that ? He wasn’t disturbed; 
he made a quiet getaway; he had plenty of time. I don’t 
know what he does with the money,” he added quietly; 
“maybe he gives it to the poor like Robin Hood, and 
maybe he keeps it to laugh over. Or, maybe he buries it 
for someone to dig up hundreds of years from now. 
Whatever he does with it, he doesn’t spend it. In the 
first place, he doesn’t have to for I still insist that he is 
a man of means; and in the second place, he isn’t the 
sort of man, I should judge, who would spend stolen 
money.” 

“Through with the whitewash brush, Gray?” sneered 
Roberts. 

“I am not trying to whitewash him,” responded the 
little detective patiently. “I am merely trying to point 
out that Mr. Wilbur’s suggestion of a trap is the only 
thing to be done under the circumstances.” 

“Suppose we did try it; what would we bait it with?” 
asked the sheriff. 

“What would you say, Mr. Wilbur?” asked Gray, 
turning deferentially to the prosecuting attorney. 

Arthur Wilbur leaned across the table and his voice 
sank to a whisper. 

“Gentlemen, it means jeopardizing $12,000, but if we 


230 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


mean to have an ambush, we won’t let him get away with 
it, of course. The payroll master for the Silver Beetle 
Mining Company, before the Devil Wolf came to Wil- 
lowlake, used to go over the Broken Nose pass to the 
office of the mining company with $12,000 payroll 
money. He made that trip twice a month and rode a 
horse because a horse is the only thing that can pass the 
Broken Nose. When the Devil Wolf scare began, the 
officials of the mine decided that it was too risky a job 
to bring all that currency up into the mountains so they 
arranged to let the miners come into Versailles on payday 
for their money. They are still doing that now. I be¬ 
lieve it could be arranged with the mine officials to let 
him make that journey again. We will put it up to them 
that there is absolutely no danger; there will be men 
posted along this route.” 

“And do you think,” asked Roberts skeptically, “that 
if the officials make that change, the Devil Wolf won’t 
know it is a trap?” 

“But according to Mr. Gray here—” 

“He will walk into it,” asserted the little detective 
confidently. 

“I suppose we could put it that the miners are getting 
tired of having to come into Versailles on payday,” sug¬ 
gested the sheriff eagerly, “and that, for that reason, the 
old practice will be resumed.” 

“Something of the sort,” confirmed Wilbur. 

“I don’t like the idea,” mused Roberts with a sidelong 
look at his partner. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


231 

“Find a better plan, then,” suggested the little detective, 
with a boldness that sat illy upon him. 

“But we can try it,” finished Roberts. “Could you 
fix it with the mining people, do you think?” he asked 
Wilbur. 

“The President of the Silver Beetle is a good friend 
of mine,” answered the other. “It might take a few 
hours of good stiff talk, but they were banking at the 
Merchants Bank here and will naturally feel an interest 
in getting this outlaw apprehended.” 

“I can furnish all the vigilants you need,” added the 
chief of police. 

“How do the Silver Beetle people pay?” asked Roberts. 

“Semi-monthly,” answered the prosecuting attorney. 
“Today is the 7th; they will pay on the 15th.” 

“That is enough time,” nodded the other. “If they 
consent, tell them to keep it secret.” 

“No,” contradicted Gray. “Get them to issue a bulle¬ 
tin stating that they will change their usual routine. 
Something so that the miners will talk about it.” 

“Why not put an advertisement in the paper calling 
attention to the ambush?” sneered Roberts. 

“It would be the best thing,” asserted the other 
seriously, “because then he would be certain to come, but 
I think the bulletin will be enough. He is certain to 
learn about it that way.” 

“Yes, and he will know it is a trap, too.” 

“That,” answered the other lightly, “is just what we 
want him to know.” 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


To a maker of fairy tales or to a believer of things 
impossible, it would have seemed that some vapor from 
the uneasy, mysterious Hills had fallen upon Willowlake, 
so that it lay wrapped in the folds of a vague fear. 

Metaphorically speaking, Willowlake went about with 
its head always turned back to see if it were followed; 
it examined dark corners carefully; it clung to its mother’s 
skirts and refused to go to bed in the dark. It was like 
a child who had been told a fearsome ghost story and was 
seeing “things.” 

Its pockets bulged noticeably, for all Willowlake had 
searched old attics and bureau drawers for forgotten 
revolvers; it eyed its neighbors suspiciously and seemed 
imbued with the fixed idea that no human being could 
make a motion in good faith. 

The Royal Moving Picture Palace gave only one show 
at night and its doors closed decorously at nine o’clock, 
for it knew better than to expect any citizen out after 
that time. 

No minister dared prolong his evening service after 
eight-thirty or he would have the pain of seeing the 
women and children, and even a few shame-faced men, 
get up and go home where one could turn on the light, 
lock one’s doors, and sit in comparative security. 

232 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


233 


Young men and girls sat in the parlors and talked in 
low whispers instead of taking father’s car out into the 
moonlit roads, and the two dance halls scarcely made 
expenses, so scant was the attendance. 

Everyone expected something to happen, yet no one 
could even remotely guess what that something was, and 
in the meantime, things that ordinarily would have occa¬ 
sioned wild excitement, fell flat and insipid. 

Only once did Willowlake display a flicker of interest. 
That was at the utter defeat of Jane Wilbur’s cherished 
plan for the closing of Willowlake’s dance halls, a defeat 
which came about through the necessity of delaying the 
presentation of the petition to the board of commissioners, 
because it was necessary to get up another petition. Jane 
had frankly confessed to her lieutenants her culpability, 
and she and Miss Cartright made frantic efforts to retrieve 
what Miss Cartright did not hesitate to style Jane’s care¬ 
lessness; but before the petition could be signed by all 
influential people, Mike O’Reilly, owner of the Willow- 
lake Sentinel, and the body and soul of Willowlake’s 
political machine, returned from his two months’ trip 
north. 

Red-haired, square-chinned, and asthmatic was Mike 
O’Reilly, but the factory portion of Willowlake took him 
literally and figuratively speaking to its bosom, red hair, 
square chin, asthma, and all. It knew and Mike O’Reilly 
knew, that his chances for the mayoralty lay in those 
same work-hardened hands, so the story of the attempt 
to close the two dance halls was certain of finding a more 


234 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


or less sympathetic reception in the heart of the big man. 
It did. 

To be sure, the petition as presented by Mr. Wyeth, 
president of the board of commissioners, and its one in¬ 
corruptible member, was duly discussed and treated with 
all seriousness and apparent sincerity of purpose, but it 
was doomed. Mr. Wyeth knew it was doomed before he 
presented it, and Jane felt it also, for there was no com¬ 
missioner around the table who did not stand in awe of 
Mike O’Reilly’s forcefulness and energy. The august 
board took the petition, argued upon it, commented upon 
it, and refused it. 

Willowlake’s younger generation, who enjoyed the 
dance halls, sat up on its hind legs and howled ecstatically; 
or at least would have done so had not the shadow of the 
dreaded Devil Wolf engulfed everything in its murkiness 
and left Willowlake apathetic and ill at ease, though glad, 
of course, that the two places of amusement would not be 
closed. 

“It makes me ashamed of the human race, to live in the 
same town with such corrupt politicians,” snapped Jane 
the following afternoon, as she served iced tea and choco¬ 
late wafers to her sympathetic lieutenants. “You can’t 
tell me those commissioners were not bribed, because I 
know they were. No man, unless he were bribed, would 
ever have refused to pass that petition.” 

“Of course, you must remember,” hinted Miss Cart- 
right acridly, “that several very influential names were 
missing from that second petition. Dr. Fenwick’s was 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


235 


not there, nor Judge Desmond’s, nor Sir Mortimer’s.” 

For once in her authoritative existence, Jane quailed; 
then she rallied her forces. “Sir Mortimer’s name was 
not on the first list, either,” she defended hastily. Dur¬ 
ing the last week, she had frequently found it necessary to 
defend herself from Miss Cartright’s sharp tongue, and 
it was not a pleasant sensation. 

“But they would never have refused it if we had had 
Judge Desmond’s name, as we did on the first one,” in¬ 
sisted Miss Cartright, determined to make Jane suffer 
while she had the chance. It was not often that anyone in 
Willowlake had the chance to make Jane Wilbur squirm. 

“It is a great pity that the first list was lost,” added 
Margaret, who had her own very private reasons for 
stabbing Jane. 

“But I am sure we should not blame Mrs. Wilbur,” 
said Mrs. Parsons gently. “The same thing might have 
happened to any of us who had charge of it.” 

Jane flashed the minister’s little wife a grateful glance. 
She had never paid much attention to Mrs. Parsons, yet 
it was Mrs. Parsons who rallied to her defence. 

Miss Cartright shrugged her shoulders exasperatingly. 
“We must just resign ourselves, I suppose, to hearing that 
disgusting dance music polluting the air every night.” 

“Only three nights a week,” corrected Mrs. Parsons. 

“Well, three nights then,” Miss Cartright accepted the 
correction far from graciously. “Three nights a week, 
however, is sufficient to lead astray the souls of the youth 
of Willowlake, and that I can tell you, Mrs. Parsons. 


236 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


What with rowdy dance halls and outlaws that even the 
Government officials cannot catch, Willowlake is getting 
to be like a vicious town of the old frontier days. It will 
soon be that no respectable woman will want to live here.” 

“Hardly that, Miss Cartright,” contradicted Margaret 
with the boldness of youth and beauty. It took boldness 
to contradict Miss Cartright. “But it does seem that 
Willowlake is getting its share of notoriety in all the lead¬ 
ing papers of the country. My cousin in Chicago sent 
me a copy of a Chicago paper with the Devil Wolf’s ex^ 
ploits spread all over one section of the Sunday Supple¬ 
ment.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. 

“It’s disgraceful,” remarked Jane. 

“She wrote and asked me,” continued Margaret with 
another giggle, “if the Devil Wolf was as romantic as the 
Chicago papers made him out to be, and I told her that if 
she had to live here and be terrified out of her skin and 
have her own brother arrested for being the Devil Wolf, 
she wouldn’t find anything so romantic about him.” 

“What are the detectives doing?” demanded Miss Cart¬ 
right energetically, as she extended her glass to Jane for 
refilling. 

“I believe they have some plan or other,” answered 
Mrs. Parsons. “The minister was talking about it last 
night.” 

“So was Arthur,” admitted Jane, “but he won’t tell me 
anything. Of course, I—well, Katie, what is it?” 

Everyone noticed with surprise the peculiar look of 
outraged virtue on Katie’s Irish countenance, as she an- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


237 


swered, “If you please, ma’am, there’s a person out here 
wants to see you.’’ There was unutterable contempt ex¬ 
pressed in the word “person.” 

“A lady or a gentleman, Katie ?” 

“Neither, ma’am,” answered Katie with sarcasm. 
“It’s one of those painted hussies from the box factory, if 
you ask me, ma’am,” with a scornful toss of her pretty 
head. 

“You should not use such an expression to me, Katie,” 
reproved her mistress. She turned to the other three 
women. “What can the girl want with me?” 

“I wouldn’t receive her,” advised Miss Cartright. 
“She probably has come with some insult or other.” 

“As a Christian woman—” began Mrs. Parsons. 

“You are quite right,” assented Jane. “Show her in 
here, Katie.” Miss Cartright sniffed. 

The visitor who appeared behind Katie was a brown¬ 
haired, gray-eyed girl of about twenty-two; gaudily at¬ 
tired, with silk hose so sheer that they were almost no 
covering, high-heeled silken slippers, a low cut blouse of 
net with a silk underblouse, and a short plaited skirt. 
She was powdered, rouged, and had her eyebrows plucked 
out until they were a mere unmeaning streak, while her 
lips were amazingly red and of a correct Cupid-bow 
shape. 

“It’s Clara, that horrid girl from the factory whom I 
was telling you about,” whispered Margaret to Jane. 
“She was the one who dared to speak to Sir Mortimer 
and Jerry.” 


238 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


The indiscreet whisper reached the ears of the “horrid 
girl,” and without a word to Jane, she turned on Mar¬ 
garet. 

“Horrid, am I?” she asked shrilly. “And I dared to 
speak to your brother, did I? Why, it’s him that dared 
to speak to me, many a time, in the Butterfly dance hall! 
Dared ? Huh!” 

She turned to Jane and held out a package which she 
carried in one hand. 

“This is yours,” she said with another spiteful glance 
at Margaret. 

Jane took the package a bit wonderingly and opened it. 
“Why—why, it’s the petition!” 

“Sure, it is!” grinned Clara. “And the next time you 
try to close the Butterfly and Idle Hour, you want to re¬ 
member that other people are just as smart as you are.” 

“You—you impudent creature!” gasped Jane. “You 
stole that petition!” But even in her indignation, she 
could not forbear a triumphant glance at Miss Cartright; 
she had not been to blame for the disappearance of the 
petition. 

“I did not!” denied Clara with vehemence. “But 
someone else did, and why shouldn’t we? You were 
tryin’ to steal away from us the only pleasure we had. 
Why shouldn’t we steal that list of names? And aren’t 
we givin’ it back to you now? That’s not stealink We 
just held it until Mike O’Reilly got back.” 

“You ought to be punished,” exclaimed Miss Cartright 
angrily. “You should be put in jail.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


239 


“Punished? Who? Me?” cried Clara, transferring 
all her fury now on Miss Cartright. “Well, I’ll have you 
know that my gentleman friend is a third cousin of Mike 
O’Reilly’s and it ain’t Mike O’Reilly’s third cousin’s 
sweetheart who is goin’ to jail!” 

“We might have known what to expect from that fac¬ 
tory crowd,” said Margaret contemptuously. 

“Factory crowd, is it?” screamed Clara, beside herself 
with vulgar rage. “You have a lot of right to talk, I 
guess! Why, it was your own brother who stole that 
thing!” 

“That’s not true!” denied Margaret with more energy 
than elegance. 

“Well, ask him, then,” advised Clara, “and see what 
he says. Why was it he wouldn’t tell where he was that 
night, when he was arrested? Because,” she answered 
her own question triumphantly, “he was right here with 
a penknife and a hair pin, openin’ Mrs. Wilbur’s desk. 
That lock ain’t worth a nickel. Factory crowd ? Huh!” 

“Katie,” commanded Mrs. Wilbur, firmly, “show this 
person out.” 

“Person, is it?” Like a weathervane, Clara turned 
her rage on the utterer of each new insult. “I’ll have 
you know that Mike O’Reilly’s third cousin’s sweetheart 
ain’t a person! I’m as good a lady as any of you, I’ll 
have you understand, and—” 

“The door, Katie.” 

“Mad ’cause you found you couldn’t go up against 
Mike O’Reilly, ain’t you? I guess you won’t be tryin’ to 


240 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


reform anything else in Willowlake for a good long 
while.” 

“The door, Katie.” This time there was no mistaking 
the icy contempt in Mrs. Wilbur’s voice, nor the flash of 
her eyes, so Clara was shown out, still protesting volubly 
that she was as good a lady as any of them. 

“Do you suppose that is the truth about Jerry?” de¬ 
manded Margaret, dismayed. “I have begged and 
begged him to tell me where he went from Sir Mortimer’s 
ball, but he never would.” 

“We all knew he was in collusion with that fac¬ 
tory crowd,” remarked Miss Cartright, with doubtful 
sympathy, “and we all know that he goes there him¬ 
self. I suppose he has danced with that painted crea¬ 
ture.” 

“And yet Jerry isn’t bad,” cried Margaret. “I couldn’t 
wish for a better brother. He does all kinds of things 
for me. He is just—” 

“He consorts with the wicked and the unrighteous,” 
said Miss Cartright firmly. “By their fruits, ye shall 
know them. I, for one, am willing to apologize to Mrs. 
Wilbur for having been annoyed at her seeming negli¬ 
gence in taking care of the petition.” 

“None of us ever really blamed her,” remarked little 
Mrs. Parsons, “and'as for Jerry, if he did do it, it was 
out of kindness of heart, not out of wickedness. I have 
known Jerry O’Neil for too many years to believe him 
anything worse than just a man who is nobody’s enemy 
but his own.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


241 


"At the same time,” remarked Jane grimly, "he is go¬ 
ing to hear from me.” 

The chime clock in front of The First National Bank 
in Willowlake was melodiously informing the sleeping 
town that midnight had just fallen, when a horseman 
entered the town on the side of it that faced the stunted, 
sullen Hills. The sound of the bells reached him though 
faintly, and he leaned over and patted the neck of the 
black horse he rode. 

"Midnight, Lucifer, and a low-hung moon! The gods 
are good to us tonight.” 

At the entrance to the main street of Willowlake, he 
turned the horse aside and entered the narrow lane that 
led back of Jane Wilbur’s Italian Garden. He rode 
slowly as though with no particular aim in view, and his 
eyes were bent on the road before him that stretched out 
a silver ribbon in the moonlight. Masked, cloaked, and 
bestriding the black Lucifer, he struck the only incongru¬ 
ous note in the golden loveliness of the night. 

At the gate of the little garden, he reined in, hesitated a 
moment or two, and then leaped lightly to the ground. 

"Did we intend coming here, Lucifer?” he remarked 
lightly. "I really don’t know!” 

Letting the horse browse at will, he leaned two elbows 
between the spikes of the iron fence and stared up at the 
silent house. Behind the black mask, the dark eyes of 
the Devil Wolf grew tender and wistful. 

"The last night of our life, Lucifer!” he said solemnly. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


242 

“The last night of our life! For I am going to take you 
with me. I am not going to let you be caught and exhib¬ 
ited all over the country to curious gapers as the horse 
belonging to the notorious outlaw. They are gloating 
over tomorrow’s trap and braiding the rope with which to 
choke me. Br-r-r! What a death, Lucifer, what a 
death!” 

At the mention of his name, the horse threw up his 
head and came running to his master. He put his head 
under the Devil Wolf’s arm and whinnied softly. 

“You needn’t whinny, comrade,” said the man gently, 
“for I know what you mean by it. You mean that we 
don’t have to walk into that trap. Ah, but we do, lad, we 
do! They are waiting for me and that is the whole secret 
of life—to go where someone is waiting for you. It was 
the mighty secret of this Man Whom they call the Christ, 
Lucifer. He always went where He knew someone was 
waiting for Him. He knew there was treachery in the 
Garden of Gethsemane. He knew it even before He 
heard it in the rustling of the mournful trees or felt it 
in the trembling of the Iscariot’s lips when they touched 
His cheek. Yet He went, because He knew they were 
waiting for Him. It was His code of honor and there 
isn’t a better. They have prepared a trap for us to¬ 
morrow night, Lucifer, and have relied upon our courage 
to walk into it. Of course, if we can, we will walk out 
of it again; if not, not. And I rather think it will be not, 
for there is death in that low-hung moon. But if we can’t 
walk out of it again, well, we’ll die out there on the 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


243 


Broken Nose; we won’t live to see their faces when they 
tear off the mask and we won’t go through a vulgar 
trial and we won’t die a vulgar death at the end of a 
rope. I won’t care what they say, Lucifer, if I don’t 
hear it.” 

The horse whinnied again, and nosed his master’s arm 
sympathetically; in his own mute way, he was saying 
that it was perfectly agreeable for him to die with his 
master out there on the Broken Nose. What would 
life be to him without this man who did brave, fearful 
things, and who laughed and caressed him? Lucifer 
could very clearly understand in that moment that there 
are worse things than death. 

“It has been a pleasant summer, Lucifer,” the man 
went on, still in the low, dreamy tone of one who thinks 
aloud, “and when it comes time to die to-morrow night, 
like a rat in a trap, we will try and make the pleasantness 
of this summer our last thought. That is her window, 
Lucifer, the one with the little balcony. I wonder if she 
ever dreams about us, you and me, and I wonder what 
she will do when they come and tell her that the Devil 
Wolf is dead. She will probably answer them quietly and 
calmly, but when she is alone, I believe she will weep for 
me. By the White Peacocks of the Majestic Juno, I 
believe she will! It’s more than I deserve. They will 
bury me at the crossroads with a stake in my heart. I 
suppose I deserve it, Lucifer, but before she leaves 
Willowlake, I believe she will find the opportunity to 
come and fling a blossom or two upon my grave and 


244 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


somewhere from the depths of hell, we will know it, you 
and I.” 

Lucifer stamped with his foot and flung his fine black 
head in the direction of The Hills. He said more plainly 
than if he had had the gift of speech, to give up these 
somber thoughts and ride away into The Hills and safety. 
He was willing to die with his master, but, he thought 
sagaciously, why die when one, by riding hard, might find 
life? 

The Devil Wolf understood, but shook his head. “The 
dream is over, Lucifer; ansgespielt, as Frau Bertha would 
say, played out. And there is nothing left but the curtain, 
slow music, and the trampling of the audience’s feet as it 
leaves the theater. It was a good play, Lucifer, while 
it lasted. We did our best and if the morning papers 
don’t give us a notice on the front page, with a photo¬ 
graph marked, ‘X shows the spot where the bandit was 
captured,’ it isn’t our fault.” 

He ceased his soliloquy, but remained for a moment 
or two leaning his elbows on the little iron fence, then, 
with a sigh, gathered up the reins, preparatory to leading 
Lucifer away. 

“We have said goodbye to her now, though she will 
never know it. Let’s go for a gallop in the moonlight; 
it will be the last.” 

With one foot in the stirrup, he paused suddenly, and 
stood, every nerve strained. There had fallen on his 
keen ears a little creak as when a lock is turned in a silent 
house. With stealthy speed, he removed his foot from 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


245 


the stirrup and sank back out of the moonlight into the 
shadow of the shrubbery. Through a mass of tangled 
branches, he peered at the house, for it was from the 
house that the sound had come. 

“By the Girdle of Venus and the Sharp Arrows of 
her Little Blind Son!” he swore fervently. 

The long French windows that led from Eugenia’s 
room on to the little balcony had opened and there ap¬ 
peared Eugenia herself, in a dressing gown of dark silk 
whose sheen caught in the moonlight. She leaned negli¬ 
gently against one of the little pillars, her face turned 
toward the silver disk in the sky. 

To the Devil Wolf, crouching low in the shadows, it 
seemed at first that she had come out, drawn merely by 
the beauty of the moonlight night, but a few moments 
later he knew that she had come out for the same reason 
that he had come—to drink in whatever comfort one 
could derive from the night’s silver beauty, for she 
dropped her face in her hands and wept. 

There are mysterious bonds between human beings. 
The Devil Wolf knew as well as though he saw it printed 
black upon white that she was weeping for him. Some¬ 
how or other, she had learned about the trap; somehow 
or other, she divined that he would walk into it, and she 
wept. 

As a matter of fact, Eugenia had learned it from Frau 
Bertha and it was the voice of Frau Bertha ringing into 
her ears that caused her tears. 

“They are making a trap for him, the Devil Wolf, ja. 


246 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


They will wait with guns and shoot him down in the road. 
Gerade wie ein Hund, just like a dog, jowohl, mein 
Franlein! Mein Gott im Hivnmel! they will not give him 
a chance. They will shoot him down. They have ar¬ 
ranged it all with the Silver Beetle people, ja, and they 
hope the Devil Wolf will walk into the trap and—and it 
is just what he will do, naturlich. I say to him last night, 
‘They will expect you to go/ and he laughs and says, 
T will have to go then. It is a point of honor with me, 
Frau Bertha, always to go where I am expected/ Ach, 
Gott! mein Franlein, they will shoot him down like a dog, 
gerade wie sie einen Hund schiessen wiirden!” 

So Eugenia wept and the Devil Wolf, seeing her weep 
and understanding, through some occult strain in his 
nature, the cause of her tears, left the shadows, leaped 
the absurdly little iron fence and skirting the narrow 
moonlit paths, stood under the balcony almost before 
Eugenia was aware of it. Frightened at first by the 
suddenness of his appearance, Eugenia was quickly re¬ 
assured by the sight of the one thing which should have 
frightened her—the black mask. 

With the tears which she had shed for him still wet 
upon her cheeks, Eugenia leaned over the little stone par¬ 
apet and waited to see what he would do. Neither spoke, 
for both seemed to divine the presence of Jane and Arthur 
in the room beside Eugenia’s. 

The Devil Wolf surveyed the distance between himself 
and the little balcony with critical eyes. It was not great, 
that distance, but it was too great to bridge without 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


247 


assistance. The architect, with a scorn for things mod¬ 
ern and an appreciative eye on the beauties of his 
profession, had spurned the thought of pillars resting 
upon the ground and had supported the balcony with 
brackets, little inverted flying buttresses. Had he looked 
into the future and seen the difficulties which a flying 
buttress presents to an aspiring lover, he might have 
changed the design and erected the pillars, which may be 
unsightly, but are more susceptible of being climbed. 
But what lover was ever daunted by such a thing as a 
mere flying buttress? Certainly not the Devil Wolf, 
whose fame for doing things seemingly not to be done 
had gone afar. He climbed the flying buttress. To be 
sure, he could go no farther than just to bring his head 
to the top of the railing but it was far enough. 

“You should not walk so boldly into the camp of the 
enemy,” whispered Eugenia. She glanced apprehensively 
toward the window at the right. Behind that window 
slept Jane the dictatorial and Arthur whose very dreams 
were filled with plans for capturing the outlaw even now 
invading so recklessly his own premises. 

“Well, do you think,” he whispered in answer, “that 
I would forego an opportunity like this—on the last night 
of my life?” 

“You mean the trap on the Broken Nose?” 

“How did you know?” 

“Frau Bertha told me,” she murmured. 

“And is that the reason you were weeping now?” he 
asked boldly. 


248 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Of course, not,” she denied with as much asperity as 
could be expressed in the softest of whispers. 

“I have studied pragmatism also,” he answered 
serenely. “It teaches the identity of truth with useful¬ 
ness, doesn’t it? If a lie is useful, it is true. Isn’t that 
about the way it runs?” 

The moonlight mercifully concealed the color that 
flushed Eugenia’s cheeks. “It is not necessary for you 
to walk into that trap,” she remarked gently, ignoring 
the subject of her tears. “Let them think that you have 
left the country. They will shoot you down like a dog,” 
with a remembrance of Frau Bertha’s words ringing in 
her ears. 

He shook his head with finality. “They have said that 
I am brave enough to enter their trap; would you have me 
prove myself a coward?” 

“They will shoot you down like a dog,” she repeated 
pleadingly. 

“If they do that, they will not hang me like a horse- 
thief ; between the two deaths,” he shrugged his shoulders, 
“a bullet is quicker and less painful.” 

“That is your side of it,” said Eugenia slowly, “but 
your friends—how will they feel?” 

“I have none.” It was said in such a decisive tone 
that Eugenia looked at him sideways. 

“Oh, if that is the way you feel about it,” she said 
sharply. 

“Of course, I did not mean to forget you,” he apolo¬ 
gized with becoming meekness. “But a young lady, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


249 


especially a professor of philosophy in an eastern college, 
would scarcely want to hear herself called the friend of 
a—a highway robber.’" 

Eugenia, once more master of the situation, looked at 
the bland moon sailing so lazily in the cloudless sky, 
and then looked at the masked head of the Devil Wolf. 
“It all depends on the highway robber,” she laughed 
softly. 

“Oh, if that’s the way you feel about it,” he said easily, 
“then you can answer your own question. How will 
you feel when I am shot down like a dog on the high¬ 
way?” 

Eugenia had not expected her question to be a 
boomerang, but philosophy is a great steadier of nerves. 

“I shall feel very badly,” was her noncommittal re¬ 
sponse. 

“Hm-m,” said the Devil Wolf. 

“And since we have now settled it that I am your 
friend,” she continued earnestly, “I shall take a friend’s 
privilege and ask you not to go to the Broken Nose to¬ 
morrow night.” 

“They—they will be waiting there for me,” he faltered. 

“With guns,” she finished. “Please don’t forget the 
guns.” 

“There is no fear of my forgetting them,” was the 
grim response. “They have haunted me all the evening. 
You see, I am not really so brave as they think I am. I 
really hate fearfully to go there tomorrow night.” 

“Then why go?” she asked boldly. 


250 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Oh, can’t you understand?” he pleaded. “They are 
waiting for me.” 

“Do you always—go—where people—wait for you?” 
She did not look at him as she put the question, but pulled 
at the silken tassel of her dressing gown. 

“I always try to keep appointments,” he answered 
simply. 

“Then,” she lifted her head and looked at him, and 
the Devil Wolf saw that her eyes were shining with 
star-like light, “then I shall be waiting for you here in 
the garden the night after tomorrow night. Now— 
now, get shot, if you dare!” 

“My dear, my dear!” groaned the Devil Wolf. 

“The men with the guns will be waiting for you to¬ 
morrow night,” said Eugenia earnestly, “and I shall be 
waiting for you the night after that. Do not keep me 
waiting!” 

“Dear, I may not be among the living—” 

“I shall be waiting.” 

“It—it may be a long wait; it may last your life 
through.” 

“I shall be waiting,” she repeated serenely. 

“Then—then,” the Devil Wolf’s whisper was barely 
audible; in fact, she had to bend her head very close to 
his to catch it. “I shall keep that appointment, if I have 
to span the gulf of hell!” 

In his earnestness, he forgot his precarious position 
and an unlucky movement sent a small flowerpot crashing 
to the stone floor of the little balcony. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


251 


A few minutes later, Jane’s voice was heard calling, 
“Arthur! Arthur!” and then Wilbur’s deep, “Who is 
there?” 

“Go, go quickly!” advised Eugenia in a cautious whis¬ 
per. The Devil Wolf needed no second bidding, though 
now he thanked the architect for his mediaeval ideas 
about a flying buttress. Pillars leading to the ground 
would not have saved him, but the flying buttress did. It 
was the work of a moment to quit his hold upon the little 
stone railing and disappear from view under the balcony, 
stretching his full length out of sight along the bracket 
that upheld the little balcony. 

Again came Wilbur’s voice, “Who is there?” 

Eugenia laughed lightly. “There, there, good people! 
Don’t get so excited! Go back to bed, Jane. I came 
out to admire the night and knocked over a flowerpot.” 

“Oh, is it you, Eugenia?” asked Jane, peevish at being 
aroused so rudely from sound slumber. “For heaven’s 
sake, child, what are you doing out there? Talking 
philosophy with the moon?” 

“Not exactly with the moon,” replied Eugenia truth¬ 
fully, “but there is no cause for excitement. Sorry I 
disturbed you.” 

“Well, of course, if it is only you,” said Arthur doubt¬ 
fully. The two heads disappeared from the window and 
silence again reigned. 

Eugenia peered over the balcony, wondering where 
the outlaw had vanished to. In a moment, the masked 
head appeared. 


252 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Sh-sh-sh!” Eugenia’s voice was so low that it was 
the mere echo of a whisper. “They are both awake. 
You had better go; it is dangerous to remain here where 
Arthur is so near. I want you to remember, though, 
that although you may keep that appointment tomorrow 
night on the Broken Nose, I shall be waiting here for 
you the next night. Don’t forget that appointment with 
me; I shall be waiting/’ 

“If I am dead, dearest—” 

“You will not be dead,” was the confident reply, “for 
you have said several times that you always go where 
people are waiting for you, and you will remember that 
I shall be waiting.” 

Before she could flee, he seized her hand with his one 
free one. 

“If I am alive, I shall come,” he panted. “If I am 
dead, I shall come. Through the barriers of heaven or 
hell, I shall know you are waiting for me, and, By the 
Spear of Athena!” he swore, “I shall come.” 

The black eyes held the brown ones compellingly and— 
what is a stone railing? No more than a three-foot 
stone wall, if one knows the architectural limitations of 
a flying buttress. He raised his head as far as he could, 
she lowered hers with philosophical, or perhaps merely 
womanly submission, and the thin silken fringe of his 
black mask detracted but little from the sweetness of the 
kiss—a kiss fraught with as much danger as sweetness, 
for not nine feet away, lay the enemy. 

“I shall be waiting for you,” she whispered. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


253 

“And alive or dead/’ he answered confidently, “I shall 
come/' 

Eugenia watched him as he skirted the geometrically 
designed garden beds, watched him as he noiselessly led 
Lucifer down the dark lane, watched him until the black- 
cloaked figure merged into the darkness and became a part 
of it. Then she turned to go in, but the eyes turned once 
more on the moon were no longer sad. Had he not said 
that he always went where he knew someone was waiting 
for him? 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


The Broken Nose was one of the chain of low, 
rebellious Hills that skirted Willowlake, and called by 
its name because of its peculiar shape. A high Roman 
nose broken at the bridge would present much the same 
outline. 

It was the last of the chain of Hills, and it ended 
rather abruptly in a deep ravine, with jagged rocky sides 
and torrents of rushing water. The ravine was like The 
Hills that bordered it, a rebel to all law and order, but 
there was a difference. The Hills crouched low to 
earth, gloomy and morose, like grim revolutionists mut¬ 
tering vague threats around a wine-bespattered table, the 
ravine was a revolutionist too, but did not sit silent and 
gloomy around the table. He sprang upon the table 
and roared his demands. The waters on its floor rushed 
and roared and screamed as they dashed clamorously 
against the rocky sides. 

It seemed to have imbued the Broken Nose with some 
of its wild energy, for the Broken Nose was not like the 
other Hills. It was loftier, a bit more rugged, and it 
was around its rocky, naked sides, that one must wind 
to go from Versailles to the camp of the Silver Beetle 
mining company. 

Under the soft moonlight, the Broken Nose lost much 
254 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


255 


of its rugged ugliness and its staring bareness. The 
stunted trees lost their appearance of abnormality. The 
rocks lay not so much like the white bones of a bleached 
skeleton, and the sparse shrubs seemed more plentiful. 
The fairy-tale aspect was still there, but softened, no 
longer like an evil tale of wicked stepmothers and en¬ 
chanted children, but the fairy-tale of gay Prince 
Charmings and lovely Princesses, whose hands must be 
won by arduous tasks. 

Such was the Broken Nose when the moon rose a mel¬ 
low, golden thing above the low Hills, and such was it 
when Jim McElvane, paymaster for the Silver Beetle, 
entered the trail. He was a man just past the prime of 
life, with hair lightly streaked with gray, and eyes mild 
and kind behind the thick glasses. He had ruined his 
eyes and rounded his shoulders in the service of the Silver 
Beetle and he had consented to take this journey tonight 
only because the officials, more or less of gods to old Jim, 
had agreed that it must be. 

Jim himself could see no reason for it. To be sure, 
in the days before the Devil Wolf, he had made that trip 
twice a month, but it had always been made before the 
fall of twilight and never so late as this; and in all the 
years that he had made that journey, he had never been 
molested, because he had never been fool enough to make 
the trip after the moon had risen. 

He wondered if the two detectives who had engineered 
this business really thought they were doing something 
clever. The Devil Wolf was no fool. He knew that 


256 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Jim had never made the trip after nightfall, and that he 
would not now risk $12,000 of the company’s money, 
unless he knew himself to be well protected. The trap 
they had arranged was crude; more like the trick of small 
boys than grown men who wore silver badges of author¬ 
ity and were credited with at least some sagacity. The 
trap would not have deceived Little Red Riding Hood, 
thought Jim contemptuously, and then to expect someone 
as astute as the Devil Wolf had proved himself to be, to 
walk into it. 

He could not know that it was on just this crudeness 
of detail that Gray was relying. It was not the gulli¬ 
bility of the Devil Wolf he depended upon, but his love 
of adventure. The more dangerous and crude the trap, 
the less of a chance they gave him, the more likely he was 
to fall into their hands. 

But the staid old bookkeeper, practical as the laws of 
figures in his neat ledgers, did not think of that abstruse 
point. He shrugged his shoulders and rode on. 

He was not afraid. In the first place, he was confident 
the Devil Wolf would not risk his life by walking into 
a trap as apparent as this one was; and in the second 
place, Jim knew that behind every large boulder along 
the narrow pass, behind every stunted tree, behind every 
struggling bush, crouched a hunter of human prey, in 
whose hands gleamed the shining barrel of a gun. So 
secure did he feel that he even forgot the $12,000 loosely 
tied in a sack under his coat, forgot the expected outlaw 
and the gleaming gun-barrels, and thought of pleasanter 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


257 


things. He wondered if he could send his eldest son, 
Herbert, to college. The boy wanted to go so badly, was 
such a good student, and apparently loved study. Jim 
decided if he sold a house left them by his wife’s mother, 
he could get up enough money to send the boy through 
some good eastern college. The house would bring 
$5,000 anyway, more than enough. Herbert was not the 
kind to waste his opportunities. The money would be 
w r ell spent. Herbert was such a fine manly chap, grave¬ 
eyed and earnest. How proud his mother was of him, 
and how the boy just worshipped her! 

“Stand and deliver! One sound and I’ll blow your 
brains out!” 

The words were whispered but the whisper was sibi¬ 
lant and the menace in the tone was just as great as 
though the words had been yelled aloud. They had 
come from above him and involuntarily Jim looked up. 
The next instant, in his heart, he bowed low before sur¬ 
passing intellect and courage. 

A sharp corner threw a deep shadow across the moon¬ 
light-flooded path. One of the low, stunted trees grew 
in the shadow of the sharp promontory and along its 
first branch some six feet from the ground lay what 
appeared to be a huge black snake. It was the Devil 
Wolf. His black cloak and black mask blended in with 
the black branches of the tree that stood in darkness. 

A hundred feet away, on either side of him, lay men 
with guns ready to kill him when he appeared. But in 
that instant when Jim peered into the blackness of the 


258 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


shadow to see where the voice had come from, he knew 
that the Devil Wolf had been there long before the hunt¬ 
ers had come; had lain nicely concealed in the black 
shadow of the sharp promontory; had probably lain there 
and chuckled as he watched the hunters take their places. 

“The bag of money! Quick, and do not scream!” 
The pressure of the gun against his forehead warned Jim 
that the Devil Wolf, for all the tone of his voice was not 
particularly malevolent, was in earnest. He thought 
longingly of the stretch of moonlight behind him and in 
front of him. Truly, the very devil must be in this man 
to make him choose the only bit of shadow along the 
whole trail for his crime. The hunters in their ambus¬ 
cade probably did not dream of the danger the old book¬ 
keeper run when he rode into that stretch of black 
shadow. They could not see him, nor the outlaw 
stretched along the branch of the stunted tree, and the 
roar of the ravine’s waters drowned the whispers of the 
Devil Wolf. 

“I shall count three,” continued the sibilant voice, “and 
remember that I have nothing to lose by a pistol shot. 
One!” 

Jim thought of the officials of the Silver Beetle, who 
had trusted him with the $12,000. What would they 
say? 

“Two!” 

He thought of Herbert, his earnest, grave-eyed boy; 
of the lad’s mother. 

“TV._” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


259 


“Here!” 

Tremulously, old Jim handed over the sack of money, 
but as he felt it drawn from his fingers, it seemed to him 
that his honor was going with it. The faces of Herbert 
and his wife vanished and nothing remained but the stern 
countenance of the old president of the Silver Beetle. 
As the last bit of the heavy canvas bag slipped through his 
fingers, old Jim yelled. 

The yell rose above the roaring of the waters and 
startled the Hills into a series of wild echoes. Instantly, 
all was confusion, and from behind the trees and boulders 
and bushes, poured the hunters. 

“What is it?” 

“Did he really come?” 

“Where is he?” 

“Where did he come from?” 

“Where has he gone to?” 

“There he goes!” 

There was just a glimpse as he darted behind a bend in 
the road, but it brought a volley of shots. They started 
in wild pursuit, firing as they went. Here and there, 
they caught sight of him, but the glimpses were too brief. 
Then he vanished, swallowed up by The Hills, they 
thought, until they heard the pounding of galloping hoofs. 

“He’ll get away!” yelled someone. “He’s mounted!” 

“Fire!” yelled Roberts. 

At that same instant, the fleeing figure appeared out¬ 
lined in silhouette against the moonlight flooded heavens. 
They could see the flapping black cloak and the masked 


26 o 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


face. He was riding madly along the narrow pass of the 
Broken Nose; below him roared the waters of the ravine. 

'‘Don’t try to head him off I Fire!” cried the big de¬ 
tective. 

He formed an excellent, though swiftly moving, target. 
Several guns spoke sharply and at first they thought they 
had missed him, for the figure seemed not to stop. Then 
they saw it hesitate a moment, waver on the brink of the 
abyss, fling up its hands as though in mute surrender, and 
horse and rider went over. 

“My God!” It was Jim McElvane’s voice, hushed and 
solemn. 

There was a moment of silence on the part of all the 
men as they thought of that dark, rock-walled ravine, 
and horse and man bounding from one jagged rock to the 
other; then with one accord, they broke into a run, mak¬ 
ing for the spot along the trail of the Broken Nose where 
the Devil Wolf had fallen. 

A few moments later, they were peering over the edge. 

“There is the horse,” whispered one of the men. 
“That dark blot to the right, and—and there he is, lying 
on his face. Wonder if he still lives. Not very likely 
after a fall like that. It is a wonder they didn’t land in 
the water below.” 

“We have got to get the body,” said Roberts decidedly. 
“It has got to be taken back to Willowlake.” 

“Yes,” said Gray plaintively. “Besides, we must 
know who he is.” 

It was the thought that was uppermost in the minds of 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


261 


all of them. The Devil Wolf lay some sixty feet below, 
and there was not one among them but whose fingers 
were itching to twist off that black mask and see whose 
was the face concealed beneath it. 

“Samuels, you and Brooks get your horses and ride 
back to Willowlake,” commanded Roberts. “Bring back 
ropes and—and a stretcher of some sort. Don’t linger 
on the job, and don’t inform anyone in Willowlake of 
anything. Time enough for that in the morning.” 

The two men thus appointed hastened away and pres¬ 
ently the dull echoes of the low Hills were awakened by 
the sound of the galloping hoofs. 

The men remaining grouped themselves uneasily 
around the spot where the Devil Wolf had gone over the 
precipice. There was not one of them willing to leave it. 
Even now, they did not know but that the dread master, 
to whom the Devil Wolf had long ago sold his soul, might 
come to rescue him. He had rescued his beloved pupil 
out of so many dangerous places. 

They talked in low whispers. 

“One by one, they all get caught,” said one of the men. 
He was an old, gray-haired fellow, and his voice was 
solemn. “It reminds me of the night Buck Anderson 
was captured. We shot him down by the river one night, 
and I can see him yet as he threw up his hands and said, 
‘So long!’ There wasn’t a one of us but felt pretty bad 
about it. We had all known Buck since he was a boy and 
a darned good kid he was, too. He never really seemed 
an outlaw, and we hated to shoot him. But he was 


262 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


working so much havoc in Willowlake, we had to. But 
it hurt— Gosh, yes! Dan Weever, sheriff’s deputy 
then, even cried a bit about it, though he always denied it. 
But I was next to him and I saw him wipe his eyes. He 
and Buck had gone to school together and it was his 
bullet that killed Buck.” 

“I remember that, too,” spoke up another. “We all 
felt sorry, but this one is different somehow. We don’t 
know him, and I am frank to confess I am anxious to see 
who has been playing ducks and drakes with the laws of 
Willowlake for about a year. Not even Buck was ever 
as bad as this. Not but what my hat is off to the Devil 
Wolf,” he continued stoutly. ‘T don’t know who he is, 
and I don’t give a damn, but what I do know is that he 
has more brains than all of us put together, and the only 
reason he is lying down there in that ravine is because 
we were too many for him. The trap was too much of 
a trap; and what’s a darn sight more, he knew it. I be¬ 
lieve with Mr. Gray that he walked into it because he 
knew we would think him a coward if he didn’t. As for 
myself, I expected him to come,” he grinned a bit sheep¬ 
ishly, "and I expected him to get away with it. You 
see,” he added in explanation, "I was present when the 
Creektown express was held up.” 

"That was a slick piece of work, wasn’t it, Barrows?” 
asked one of the men. 

"Slick?” answered Barrows. "One man to hold up 
three armed guards and the railway men and get away 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


263 


with it? It was more than slick; it was the devil's own 
work. That’s where he got his name. We didn’t know 
who he was. We could only see his eyes shining behind 
the mask and their gleam was like that of a wolf’s, so we 
gave him the name of the Devil Wolf, and the name 
stuck.” 

“Well, Willowlake will settle down now, I guess,” re¬ 
marked another. “It does seem, though, that we have 
always had more than our share of bandits.” 

“Because the town lies at the foot of The Hills,” re¬ 
sponded Barrows. “If I were ever to take to outlawry, 
I would pick on Willowlake, too, and make my home in 
The Hills. There is something spooky about the mys¬ 
terious old things; just fit for men like the Devil Wolf.” 

“You think he lived here then?” 

“Where else could he live?” asked Barrows with a 
shrug of his shoulders. “At any rate, he died here. All 
Willowlake will be sorry, too. They expected to have a 
big trial and a great hanging with women and children 
bringing lunches and making a regular picnic out of it. 
Now there will only be a marble slab in Cramer’s morgue 
and a quiet burial.” 

To one side, a little apart from the rest, Gray and Rob¬ 
erts were talking in low tones. 

“After all, I’m glad it happened this way,” the little 
man was saying a bit wistfully. “I always hate a trial 
and a hanging. Better that he died like this.” 

“Glad it is over with, anyway.” Roberts shrugged 


264 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


his shoulders. “I don’t care how he died. Orders said, 
‘dead or alive,’ and we’ll bring him in dead. Our job is 
finished, at all events.” 

“How about the $12,000? He got it, you know.” 

“It is somewhere down there in the ravine, I guess; 
probably in the water. Maybe not, though. Govern¬ 
ment will have to replace it, I guess. We can’t expect 
the Silver Beetle people to stand the racket.” 

“Wilbur will be glad that he is dead,” mused the little 
detective, “but I have a queer fancy that that is more than 
one can say of—” He paused uncertainly. 

“Of whom?” 

“Roberts,” the little man laid a hand on his colleague’s 
arm, “you and I must be the first to view that man’s face.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” answered the other slowly, “but a 
glance at the Devil Wolf’s face, I believe, will tell us what 
part Eugenia Appleton has played in the whole affair.” 

Roberts looked his astonishment. “That’s the second 
time you have mentioned her in connection with this fel¬ 
low. Remember she is Wilbur’s wife’s sister, and she 
isn’t the sort of woman to be mixed up with a highway 
robber. She is a philosopher, or at least, teaches it in a 
high-class college.” 

“So was the Devil Wolf a philosopher,” retorted Gray. 
“That was the reason he was so hard to catch.” 

“Wilbur won’t thank you to mix up his sister-in-law in 
this affair, and his wife will scratch your eyes out.” 

“I am only telling you. Do you remember the gloves 


THE DEVIL WOLF 265 

we found on the table in the little German widow’s 
house ?” 

“Yes, and they were Sir Mortimer’s.” 

“Yes, I suppose they were,” responded the other wear¬ 
ily, “but I hope I never lose as much sleep over anything 
as I have over those gloves.” 

“Do you think she lied? Do you think he was there 
that day?” 

“I don’t know. I only know there are two things on 
earth I don’t trust. One is a philosopher for he lives by 
no code, and the other is a woman, for she lives by all 
codes; and when you find yourself up against someone 
who is both—” 

“Well, it doesn’t make any difference now,” said Rob¬ 
erts easily. “We have the Devil Wolf, or at least, he is 
where we can get him and—” He broke off abruptly, 
“Here come Brooks and Samuels with ropes. They 
made good time.” 

But even with ropes, it was a difficult matter to raise 
that limp mass of flesh and blood, for it necessitated 
someone making a perilous descent down the rocky side 
of the ravine. There were several volunteers, but choice 
finally fell on a young man named Daniels, who was slen¬ 
der and agile, and noted for a daring spirit. 

They adjusted the rope around his body, twisted it 
lightly once around the trunk of one of the misshapen 
trees with the other end held firmly in the hands of five 
of the men, and then gave Daniels final instructions. 

“Now, take your time, Daniels,” cautioned Roberts. 


266 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Test every rock before you set your feet on it and don’t 
be in a hurry.” 

“And, Daniels,” Gray’s timid voice arrested the young 
man as he was about to set one foot over the edge, “there 
isn’t any need for you to lift that mask until we have him 
up here.” 

“I understand, sir,” responded the other softly, and the 
next moment had disappeared over the edge of the prec¬ 
ipice. 

The five men holding the end of the rope felt it tug and 
strain and slip gently through their fingers as Daniels 
made progress from rock to rock. It was a dangerous 
trip to make with no other light than that cast by the 
moon, more dangerous than any of them knew except 
Daniels, for the sides of the precipice were sheer and the 
jagged edges of the rocks caught treacherously at his 
clothing. Here and there a seemingly firm rock gave 
way beneath his feet, but he stumbled on, thankful that 
it was a moonlight night. Thirty minutes were con¬ 
sumed in making that descent of sixty feet, but at last 
he stood panting and exhausted beside the crumpled 
body of the Devil Wolf, the dreaded outlaw of Willow- 
lake. 

He would not have owned it to the men up above, but 
he felt a thrill of something surprisingly like fear when 
he put forth a hand to touch that still body. 

He came of Irish parents, did Daniels, and he had 
never given up some of the superstition of his childhood. 
The man lying so quietly at his feet had been known as 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


267 

the Devil Wolf and for all he, Daniels, knew, the dreaded 
master himself might now be lurking in some dark cranny, 
watching over the body of his servant. That was why 
Daniels made the sign of the cross as he made ready to 
tie ropes around the dead man’s body. His hands were 
covered with blood before he was half through his task 
and he knew that the body must have been cut fearfully. 
No wonder, he thought, looking up for an instant at the 
wall of jagged rocks above him. 

He adjusted the rope around the ankles, around the 
knees, around the waist, and around the shoulders, feeling 
the blood spurt over his hands as he moved the mass of 
crumpled flesh, and conscious of a feeling of sickness at 
the smell of it. 

True to his promise to Gray, he did not lift the mask; 
in fact, he did not want to, for who knew what fearful 
sight might not be concealed beneath that silken thing? 

Every rope adjusted, he gave the signal for the ascent, 
and made the trip up the cliff in much less time than he 
had taken to descend, for he was anxious to get out of the 
dark place and away from the bleeding body of the Devil 
Wolf. He scrambled up the side of the Broken Nose in 
undignified haste and upon reaching the smooth ground 
again, was too sick and exhausted to assist in the pulling 
up of the body, bleeding and torn, with the head hanging 
limp as though almost cut from the shoulders. 

They brought it up over the edge and laid it down on 
the side of the trail. 

Gray had asked for the first glimpse of the outlaw’s 


268 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


face and to Gray, therefore, was allowed the task of re¬ 
moving the bloody mask, a task not many were willing to 
dispute with him. Accustomed as he must have been to 
terrible sights, even the fingers of the little detective 
trembled as they searched among the mass of crumpled 
flesh for the strings. The bit of black fringed silk was 
heavy with blood, and slowly and timidly the little detec¬ 
tive removed it, as though fearful of something, he knew 
not what. 

Roberts kneeled beside him, and a little to one side 
stood the other men, struck into silence by a solemn some¬ 
thing. What would the removal of the mask reveal? 
Whose face among their neighbors and friends would 
it be? What comrade whose arms they had perhaps 
linked within theirs, would spring into being on the re¬ 
moval of that bit of black, blood-soaked silk? Would 
there be revealed some great tragedy of a man high in 
the respect of the community, who had increased his in¬ 
come by unlawful deeds? 

Awestruck, they waited until the officials should have, 
by virtue of their authority, the first glimpse of the solu¬ 
tion to the great problem of Willowlake. They saw the 
two detectives look at the face under the mask, then at 
each other, and in their eyes were fearful questions. 
Then, one by one, the men sidled up to that still figure on 
the ground; one by one, they peered over the shoulders of 
the two officials. 

For a moment, no one spoke; then came the voice of 
Daniels, whose young Irish soul had been shaken to its 


THE DEVIL WOLF 269 

depths, “Holy Mother of Christ, pray for us, who have 
recourse unto Thee!” 

For the face under the mask was bleeding and tom by 
the rocks, and it lay, a mere crumpled mass of flesh and 
blood under the silver moonlight. 

To the last, with or without the assistance of his Sa¬ 
tanic master, the Devil Wolf had managed to conceal his 
identity. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


“The Devil Wolf is dead!” 

The news was slow in reaching Willowlake; in fact, 
it was not until frowsy-headed, unshaven heads of fami¬ 
lies went out on the front porch to seek the Willowlake 
morning Sentinel that the town woke up to the great news. 

Having for so long a time cowered beneath the terror 
of the Devil Wolf’s reign, Willowlake at first refused to 
believe in the report of his death, but the crumpled broken 
body on the marble slab in Cramer’s undertaking estab¬ 
lishment was proof positive and having once seen and 
examined that proof, Willowlake was ready to celebrate. 

There were two things that dampened its joy, however. 
One was the fact that it would never have the pleasure of 
seeing the Devil Wolf dangle at the end of a rope, and the 
other was that no one, not even the Government officials, 
knew who he was or had been. But that was, after all, 
but a minor detail. The main point was that the Devil 
Wolf was dead, so Willowlake threw its hat in the air and 
cheered. 

Crowds poured in from Mayfair and Versailles, both 
of which had suffered much and often, and there was a 
constant stream of people moving past the marble slab at 
Cramer’s little morgue. To be sure, there was nothing to 
see but a something covered with a black cloth, but that 
270 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


271 


was sufficient for the visitors. On the street corners, the 
men who had participated in the killing of the outlaw 
were kept constantly repeating their little story. 

There were “Ohs” and “Ahs” over the devilish cunning 
displayed by the bandit’s choosing the one little six-foot 
strip of shadow in which to waylay the messenger and 
his actually getting the money. 

“But where is the $12,000?” demanded one young 
fellow pertly. 

“At the bottom of the ravine,” answered the narrator 
with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Old Jim McElvane found himself a hero, for it was to 
his fortitude that they owed their deliverance. 

At ten thirty, the mayor declared a holiday, and within 
a half-hour every place of business was closed. All the 
streets were crowded, and the Willowlake Sentinel issued 
an extra noon number giving detailed and illustrated ac¬ 
counts of the Devil Wolf’s exploits from the robbing of 
the Creektown express train, to the memorable night be¬ 
fore. The factories along the river tried to rival each 
other in the shrillness of their whistles, and in the Metho¬ 
dist church, the Reverend Mr. Parsons held a morning 
thanksgiving service. 

Willowlake was happy. 

It was Jane Wilbur herself, boudoir cap awry, and pink 
satin slippers in her hands instead of on her feet, who 
brought the news to Eugenia, having just gleaned it from 
the prosecuting attorney. 

“The Devil Wolf is dead, Eugenia! Just think! 


272 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Isn’t it glorious? No more bank robberies, and Arthur 
can at last give me a little of his time instead of growing 
gray over this detestable outlaw. All Willowlake is in 
an uproar, and well it might be. Hurry up and get 
dressed. Sir Mortimer is going to take us into town. I 
wanted Arthur to, but he will be busy with those detec¬ 
tives, so I ’phoned to Sir Mortimer. The body is at 
Cramer’s. Arthur thinks we ought not to go to see it, 
but I hated the man so in life, I would like to see him 
dead, to be sure. Hurry and get up, honey!” 

“Dead?” Eugenia thought she screamed the word at 
her sister; in reality, it came from her lips in the lowest of 
whispers. “Then—then they killed him? Who is he, 
Jane?” 

“We will never know, honey,” answered Jane regret¬ 
fully. “He fell over the ravine at the Broken Nose. 
The body was torn by the rocks and the face was so 
crushed and bruised—at least, Arthur says so—that no 
one is able to identify him; but whether we know who he 
is or not, he is dead, and I am glad, for Arthur’s sake, 
aren’t you?” 

By a merciful interposition of Providence, Jane was 
called down stairs by the cherished Arthur, so did not 
wait for an answer, but left Eugenia to face it alone. 

Dead! 

All his boyishness, his gayety, his whimsical pagan 
oaths, his wonder-philosophy with its little dash of de¬ 
spair, his courage, the romantic mystery that wrapped 
him about like a cloak, because of his namelessness—all 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


273 


that was left of all that lay on a marble slab in Cramer’s 
undertaking establishment, and Jane said all Willowlake 
was rejoicing. 

Dead! 

And tonight he had promised to come to her. “I will 
span even the gulfs of hell to keep that rendezvous,” he 
had said. 

Dead! 

And all Willowlake was rejoicing over his death; those 
who had feared him living, were bandying quips and ill- 
timed jokes over the poor, broken body on the marble 
slab. 

She dressed mechanically, feeling all the while an un- 
philosophical desire—somehow, this summer, she had 
been filled with nothing but unphilosophical desires—to 
run and scream and scream— 

At breakfast, she had so little appetite as to draw the 
attention of her sister. 

“Ill, honey?” asked Jane with quaint, motherly anx¬ 
iety. 

“No, I think it’s the heat, Jane.” 

“It is warm today, isn’t it? Well, the ride will do you 
good. Sir Mortimer will be here now in about a half- 
hour.” 

Eugenia hesitated a moment or two and then said tim¬ 
idly, and with none of the philosophical assurance that 
Jane always found so disconcerting. 

“I believe I will not go, Jane.” 

“Why not?” demanded the older sister sharply. “I 


274 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


suppose because Sir Mortimer is going. I can’t see why 
you treat the man so cavalierly. Margaret Wyeth would 
give—” 

“It isn’t because of Sir Mortimer. It is because— 
Why do you want to go and look at the bruised, bleeding 
corpse of an outlaw?” 

“Mercy, child, I am not going to look at anything. I 
really want to see the crowd and the ride between here 
and town is delightful. It will do you good, and besides, 
what will Sir Mortimer think?” 

“Make my excuses to him, won’t you, dear?” pleaded 
Eugenia. “I really don’t want to go. The crowd will 
be noisy and vulgar—” 

“Hm-m,” Jane darted a suspicious glance at her 
younger sister whose head was bent guiltily over her 
plate. “And you were always the radical one of the fam¬ 
ily; so democratic, and filled with such sympathy for 
the populace, and now you speak of vulgar crowds! 
For a philosopher, you show a strange lack of consis¬ 
tency.” 

“It isn’t snobbery, Jane,” protested Eugenia. She 
had much ado to keep her voice from trembling. If she 
could only get somewhere where she could weep in com¬ 
fort. “I will just feel better if I don’t go. I think I will 
go for a walk instead, maybe out to Frau Ber—Mrs. 
Baumgarten.” 

“What can you see in that little German widow? You 
go out there entirely too much, Eugenia. It is all right to 
be democratic and altruistic, but you are always talking 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


2 75 

about intellectual companionship, and surely, she can't 
be an intellectual companion for the professor of philoso¬ 
phy at Dearborn College. And I can’t go with Sir 
Mortimer alone.” 

“Yes, you can, Jane,” contradicted Eugenia wearily. 
“No one would dare say anything about you. Or, why 
not stop at the Wyeth’s and get Margaret?” 

“That is exactly what I will do,” agreed Jane sarcas¬ 
tically. “Let Margaret Wyeth sit with Sir Mortimer 
and make love to him all during the ride. That is a 
brilliant suggestion, Eugenia.” She pushed hter plate 
aside angrily. There were times when Eugenia was posi¬ 
tively too much for her, she thought. “I quite agree with 
you; it must be the heat. Why, that girl would worship 
the ground I walk on if I would do that. She is crazy 
about him. It is all I can do to hold her off until he 
proposes to you, and I can’t see why he doesn’t do it. 
He is deeply in love with you, Eugenia; you can see that 
from the way he looks at you. But, of course, that is 
nothing wonderful; any man could see the difference 
between you and that silly, simpering thing. What I 
can’t understand is why he doesn’t propose.” 

Eugenia bent further down over her plate to hide her 
cheeks. What if Jane knew that Sir Mortimer had pro¬ 
posed or come as near to it as he ever would and she had 
refused him? That was the one thing Jane must never 
know if she were to have any peace whatever. 

But Jane’s sharp eyes caught the light color mantling 
Eugenia’s cheeks and drew her own conclusions which, 


276 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


keen little matron that she was, were not wide of the 
mark. 

“Eugenia, you are blushing! He has proposed to you, 
and, Eugenia,” Jane’s voice was horrified, “you have re¬ 
fused him!” 

To a philosopher, a falsehood is but a little thing and 
a very great help in time of trouble; besides, Eugenia 
reflected hastily, he had not really proposed and she had 
not really refused him. 

“You are wrong, Jane,” she said wearily. “Sir Mor¬ 
timer hasn’t asked me to marry him, and as to my 
blushing, who wouldn’t blush at being thrown at a man 
in that perfectly apparent way?” 

“Someone has to do something,” retorted Jane sharply, 
“or you will live and die an old maid; and not only an 
old maid, but an old maid philosopher. Of all the blind, 
lackadaisical—” 

What she was, Eugenia never knew, for she fled up 
to her own room, donned hat and gloves, and in spite of 
Jane’s insistence and queries as to what Sir Mortimer 
would think, escaped from the house just in time to miss 
the sight of a huge red machine turning into the avenue. 

She walked rapidly in the direction of The Hills. If 
only she could reach Frau Bertha’s cool little cottage be¬ 
fore she broke down and wept; wept for the Devil Wolf, 
but she didn’t care, she didn’t care— 

They had shot him down like a dog on the highway— 
shot him down because of his courage. They had made 
it a point of honor for him to walk into their horrible 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


277 


trap and they had shot him down for his honor. She 
hated those two detectives; she hated Arthur; she hated 
Jane for her hatred of him. She hated Willowlake be¬ 
cause of its rejoicing over his death. 

Who was he, this man lying nameless on the marble 
slab at Cramer’s? In life, he had hidden his identity; in 
death, Fate had done it for him. She shuddered; it was 
like a Dunsany playlet with its terrible little climax. 

“The tragedies of men are the jests of the gods,” the 
Devil Wolf had said to her on the night of the storm as 
they rode together between The Hills. How the gods 
must be chuckling over this tragedy of his! 

She had been walking rapidly, and it was at this point 
in her reflections that she paused under a wide spreading 
maple to rest a moment. The heat-blistered road 
stretched before her, dusty and tortuous, and she sat 
down in the grass to cool herself. It was a lonely place 
and she was glad for the solitude. The way to Frau 
Bertha’s, trod two or three times a week, had never 
seemed so long, but then she had always gone in all 
lightness of heart to chat with Frau Bertha about the 
Devil Wolf alive and daring; now she was going to talk 
about him dead, broken and bruised in body, and the 
way seemed hard and long. The tears that she had 
managed to stifle before Jane and before the casual 
passers-by on the more frequented road now came, 
slowly at first, then suddenly the red-gold head was 
bowed upon her open hands and Eugenia’s slender frame 
shook with the vehemence of her sobs. Very unphilo- 


278 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


sophical tears they were, that swept away from her at 
one moment all the accumulated philosophy of years. 
Eugenia was no longer the self-assured, composed young 
professor of Dearborn College; she was a woman weep¬ 
ing for a dead man, whose lips in life had touched her 
own, and though there had been between his lips and hers 
the silken fringe of a black mask—the badge of his out¬ 
lawry—the kiss had lost none of its sweetness. 

“It is the philosopher lady, ain’t it ?” 

Startled, Eugenia raised her head. Before her stood 
the little red-haired country boy whom the Devil Wolf 
had pulled out of the quicksand one night. The freckled 
face, dusty and soiled from his tramp along the road, was 
streaked, Eugenia noticed, with something remarkably 
like tears. His bare feet had made no sound in the dusty 
road, and besides, she had been too wrapped up in her 
sorrow to notice his approach. 

Noticing her tear-stained cheeks, the boy asked sym¬ 
pathetically, “Say, what’s the matter? Somebody been 
mean to you?” 

“No, a friend has died.” She would not have admitted 
as much to Jane, but there was a bond of sympathy be¬ 
tween this little country boy and herself—a bond made 
up of a man with a winning personality and a whimsical 
laugh. 

“But what have you been crying for?” she added 
hastily. 

“Same reason,” he answered shortly, “and I ain’t 
ashamed of it, either. I just come from there,” he jerked 






THE DEVIL WOLF 


279 


his head in the direction of Willowlake. “They got him 
stretched out on a piece of marble at Cramer’s.” 

“You mean the Devil Wolf?” 

Sure. There ain’t nobody else I’d be cryin’ over, is 
there ? The mean pups, laughin’ over a man they 
would’ve been scared to death to face if he’d been livin’. 
He wasn’t as bad as they say he was, was he?” 

“No, he wasn’t.” 

Something in her voice caused the lad to take a step 
nearer. 

“Say,” he asked with a boy’s impulsive frankness, 
“ain’t it him you’re cryin’ about, too?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I’ll be—- How did you come to know him? 
But,” remembering his manners, “I guess maybe it ain’t 
any of my business.” 

“It was the night of the big storm,” answered Eugenia 
readily. “About two months ago, you remember? I 
was lost in The Hills and he helped me.” 

“Say, lady, wasn’t he the helpin’est fellow, though?” 
grinned the youngster. 

“He was,” agreed Eugenia. 

“And did you meet him after that?” 

“Many times.” 

The boy traced a pattern in the dust with his toe. 
“Say,” he asked a bit bashfully, “did you ever find out 
who he was ?” 

“No—and I never asked.” 

The boy bent down so as to see more clearly what his 


28 o 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


toe was accomplishing in the soft dust. There seemed 
to be another question trembling on the end of his tongue, 
but he was a little fearful about asking it. Then, finally, 
with boyish timidity, “Was he—your beau?” 

“Yes.” There seemed nothing incongruous about 
confessing such a thing to this youngster. For all his 
thirteen years, he seemed so sincere in his admiration for 
the man who had saved his life. Here was no fear of the 
black mask; he, like herself, and Frau Bertha, had been 
caught by the personality of the man, the dancing light in 
the black eyes, the laughter that lay hidden in the voice. 

“I am glad,” said the boy simply. “You—you’re pretty 
enough for him. He deserved the best there is.” 

At the shy compliment, the sincerest she had ever re¬ 
ceived in her life, Eugenia smiled through her tears, and 
the boy stared in admiration. 

“I guess none of your folks knew it, did they?” 

“No, why?” 

“Because Aunt Delia says you are goin’ to marry that 
Englishman, the fellow with the title. Aunt Delia sews 
for Mrs. Desmond and she hears all the news. She was 
tellin’ my mother that all the women are crazy about him, 
but that you stood the most chance.” 

“What do you think about it ?” asked Eugenia gravely. 

“Well,” the boy laughed, “I guess after knowin’ him ” 
he never used any other designation for the Devil Wolf 
than the personal pronoun, “you ain’t goin’ to marry the 
Englishman.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 281 

“That,” answered Eugenia softly, “is just what I think 
about it.” 

She rose and brushed her skirt, preparatory to resum¬ 
ing her way. 

“Which way you goin’?” asked the boy shyly. 

“Down to Mrs. Baumgarten’s.” 

“Fll go as far as the stile with you.” 

They walked on together and it seemed to Eugenia that 
between them walked the slender figure of the Devil Wolf, 
merry and whimsical as ever. 

“Say,” said the boy suddenly, “do dead people know 
anything afterwards?” 

“Child, you must not think I am an authority on every 
religious question,” protested Eugenia. “I don’t know; 
perhaps they do. Why?” 

“I never got a chance to thank him,” the youngster 
replied in a low voice. “He rode away that night so 
quick, and I was so scared anyway; couldn’t think of a 
thing to say, and it worried me afterwards; him maybe 
thinkin’ I wasn’t grateful. I always hoped that maybe 
sometime I’d get a chance to see him again and thank him. 
It wasn’t no easy job, pullin’ me out of that place. If 
he had just lost Jiis balance for a second on that little 
branch, he would’ve gone over and— Down in Willow- 
lake, they say, every one of them, that he is in,” he 
lowered his voice to a whisper, “in hell. If he is, .say, 
do you think he knows how I feel about it?” 

They had reached the stile, and had paused there, while 


282 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


he put the question to her anxiously. Eugenia placed 
her hand on his shoulder and drew the child closer to her. 

“What is your name?” 

“Bob, ma’am; Bob Adams.” 

“Bob, I don’t know as much about these things as you 
seem to think I do. The Christians have told you that the 
Devil Wolf, because of his crime, is in hell, and is suffer¬ 
ing too much as punishment for his sins to know anything. 
As a philosopher, I don’t believe that, and I don’t want 
you to believe it, either. Wherever he is, he knows just 
exactly how you feel about it. If saving your life was 
the only good thing he had ever done—and it wasn’t, Bob, 
it wasn’t—it wipes out at one stroke all those robberies 
and terrible things he took delight in, for some reason we 
can’t understand. But if there should be any punishment 
in store for him in the next world for what he did in this, 
your gratitude, if it is sincere, child, will lighten that 
punishment for him.” 

She bent and kissed the dusty, freckled face, noting the 
while the whole-souled admiration and awe in his eyes. 

“You and him” whispered the boy, catching his breath 
in a sob, “you and him —” 

He watched her over the stile and then waved a hand to 
her before he turned down the little road that led home. 
Eugenia feeling much lighter of heart now that she knew 
someone else shared her sorrow, hastened down the road 
to Frau Bertha’s. 

There was a gay chorus of childish laughter as Eu¬ 
genia’s white dress appeared around the bend in the road, 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


283 

and in a few seconds, the little gate flew open and four 
lively children pounced upon her. Behind them, toddled 
little Lisbeth, who had been in this world only a scant 
two years before the little Gretel came into it. Eugenia, 
to them, had long been a glorious Lady Bountiful, a lady 
whose purse never seemed to grow empty of such things 
as pennies and nickels which she always distributed lav¬ 
ishly, with smiles and kisses, and little pats on the back. 
Today however, there were the pennies and the nickels, 
and the pats on the back, but the smiles and kisses were 
absent, and with childish discernment, they noticed the 
traces of tears on her cheeks. 

“Is Mama at home?” 

“Sure,” answered Nathaniel readily. “She’s in there 
filing dinner. Say, that’s funny, too; she said you would 
come today, didn’t she, Meta?” 

“Jawohl ” answered the little girl in a voice so like her 
mother’s that Eugenia looked hastily down and patted 
the curly head. 

“How did she know that you were coming?” persisted 
the boy. 

“Run now, and play, all of you,” said Eugenia, not 
answering the question. “I am going in to see Mama and 
Baby Gretel for a while.” 

The children put their heads together, counted the 
pennies, and the nickels, and decided that a visit to the 
“candy store man” was in order. They hastened out 
through the gate and down the long road, and Eugenia 
went up the cinder path to the house. 


284 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Frau Bertha was hurrying to and fro across the 
kitchen floor, “fixing” dinner, but at sight of Eugenia’s 
white dress in the doorway, she stopped and looked. 

“Frau Bertha!” 

“Ach, mein Fraulein! mein Fraulein!” cried Frau 
Bertha softly. The next instant, Eugenia was sobbing 
in her arms, Frau Bertha keeping her company. 

“Gerade wie ein Hund!” sobbed the little widow. 
“Just like a dog they shot him down.” 

“And—and all Willowlake is laughing about it,” cried 
Eugenia. 

“Lumpenpack!” And apostrophizing thus the absent 
Willowlakians, Frau Bertha seemed to think she had 
summed up their characters in one word. At any rate, 
she felt much better after its utterance and dried her eyes 
on one corner of her worn apron. 

“Mein Fraulein, I have here something for you. I 
was to give it to you if there should happen what has 
happened.” She went to the little chest of drawers in 
one corner of the kitchen and brought out a folded bit of 
paper. 

“Mein Fraulein, he wrote it in this room, seated right 
here at this corner of the table the night before he went 
to the Broken Nose. He wrote it for you.” 

“For me?” repeated Eugenia, and opened it. It was 
a piece of ruled tablet paper such as children use in school, 
and the words were not printed as had been the first 
little note she received from him, but written in a fine 
masculine hand which she could not recognize. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


285 


“Dearest: 

“I left you two hours ago with a promise to return, yet 
because the premonition of death lies so heavily upon me, 
I am writing this so that you will understand. I do not 
care what all Willowlake thinks; it is what you will think 
that worries me. Frau Bertha will give this to you if the 
jaws of the trap snap upon me, so only in case of my death 
will you read what is written here. When you do read it, 
you will know who I was, and with your philosopher’s soul 
and clear understanding, you will know why I did it. I shall 
not blame you if, when they tear the mask from my face 
and lay my pitiful little secret bare before you, you turn 
away with disgust at my deception and falsehood. Yet I 
implore you by high Olympus and the Immortals that dwell 
therein, try to see the humor of it as I have seen it. 

“Now, as to the promise I made you; I shall keep it. 
There is no gate of heaven so strong but that I can break it 
down, nor any causeway of hell so frightful but that I can 
bridge it, to come to you. I do not know how I shall come, 
nor whether I shall be able to make myself felt by you, but 
I shall come. If I do not find you there, I shall know that 
you hate and despise me for my deception, but if I do find 
you there— Ah, love, if I find you there—” 

It ended abruptly, and there was no signature. 

Forgetting Frau Bertha completely, Eugenia leaned 
against the frame of the door and stared out across the 
low Hills. The children had not yet returned from the 
candy store, and there was silence around the little white 
cottage nestling at the foot of The Hills. It seemed to 
Eugenia that the end had come to everything, as a dream 


286 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


vanishes when one is rudely awakened. All the summer 
had been a dream, made up of such things as one sees in 
the changing surface of a bubble. The day of the storm, 
something over two months ago, was a dream, and all 
that followed it. There came back to her his own quaint 
explanation of things: “A drunken god falls asleep 
under a grapevine and we and all the world are his 
dreams. When he awakes—” 

Well, the god had awakened, and the dream of the 
Devil Wolf was no more. Yet he had been. The glory 
of the thing was that he had been. 

“The letter, mein Fraulein,” asked Frau Bertha 
timidly. “Does it say who he was?” 

“No,” answered Eugenia, her eyes still fixed on the 
low Hills. After a few moments, she turned to the little 
widow. “I loved him, Frau Bertha,” she said simply, as 
though it was in answer to something that had been said 
before. 

A little smile played around Frau Bertha’s lips. “So 
have I guessed this long while, mein Fraulein ” 

“Do you—do you think it a very foolish thing that I 
should have loved a man, without knowing his name, nor 
having seen his face?” 

“But no, mein Fraulein, for—I loved him also, aber /’ 
seeing the sudden little look of surprise in Eugenia’s eyes, 
“nur wie eine Mutter, only as a mother might love.” 

“I have lived out in the world, Frau Bertha,” mused 
Eugenia, still with that earnest gaze fixed upon the crouch- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


287 


ing Hills, “and I have met many men; yet there was never 
one of them who was like him.” 

“I would like to know who he was,” said Frau Bertha 
wistfully. 

“No,” contradicted the girl gently, “his namelessness 
was part of the charm. It was in keeping with his char¬ 
acter to take it to the grave with him.” 

“Some day, though, it will be known,” asseverated Frau 
Bertha wisely. “One cannot disappear from a place like 
Willowlake without being missed.” 

“I hope it is never known,” returned Eugenia. She 
abandoned the mysterious Hills and came into the room 
again. “Frau Bertha, what are you going to do now?” 

“You mean about the six dollars a month?” 

“Yes.” 

“I do not know, mein Fraulein” slowly. 

“I think I can manage, Frau Bertha. I will send it to 
you every month.” 

“Mein Fraulein, I could not take it. It was different 
from him. He had a way—so; one could not refuse.” 

“I know his way,” confirmed Eugenia, “and you are 
right; one could not refuse. But indeed, I can spare it, 
Frau Bertha, and with six children—” 

“But you have your own living to make, mein 
Fraulein —” 

“They pay me much more than I am using, Frau 
Bertha; sometimes, I think it is much more than what I 
teach is worth—in a philosophical way, you understand. 


288 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


And besides, I have a little bit outside my salary. I can 
very well spare it.” 

“ Aber —” 

“I really think, dear, it was his one regret when he died, 
that you would have to find some other way to meet that 
monthly payment. For his sake, Frau Bertha!” 

“Well, then,” Frau Bertha was evidently weakening, 
and again came the soft plea, “For his sake, Frau Ber¬ 
tha!” 

“It will be a great help,” sighed the little widow con- 
sentingly. 

Eugenia kissed her tenderly and then said hastily, to 
forestall any thanks, “I am going to leave you now, and 
hurry back. Jane will be angry with me for being gone 
so long. She was angry at my leaving in the first place. 
But I am not sorry I came.” She smiled down at the 
piece of paper which she still held in her hand. 

“I should have brought the note to you this afternoon, 
mein Fraulein, if you had not come. But I knew you 
would come.” 

She accompanied Eugenia down the cinder path to the 
gate and stood there, her hands folded under the gingham 
apron. The two women remained silent for a moment, 
Eugenia on the outside of the gate, and Frau Bertha on 
the inside. 

Finally, Eugenia spoke. “I shall be sorry to leave 
Willowlake, Frau Bertha.” 

“Do you go soon, mein Fraulein?” 

“In about ten days or two weeks.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


289 


“I shall miss you, mein Fraulein” Then, after a short 
pause, “You and he, mein Fraulein; Ach Gott, you and 
he 

And Eugenia, following the dusty little road around 
The Hills wondered why it was that both Frau Bertha 
and the little freckle-faced country lad had coupled them 
together in that fashion. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


It was with a comparatively light heart that Eugenia took 
the homeward road. The little note written on cheap 
ruled paper was a message from the dead, and such a 
message that she no longer thought of him as a broken, 
crushed thing lying on a marble slab in Cramer’s little 
morgue, but as she had seen him last when he clung to 
the little flying buttress supporting her balcony, and made 
love to her in the moonlight. It was that picture she 
would take back with her to Dearborn College. It was 
that picture she would always see in the soft darkness of 
her little ivy-covered tower room. 

It was all over. The dream was dreamed out; the 
drunken god of the Devil Wolf’s fancy had awakened. 

The sound of an automobile horn behind her caused 
her to walk to one side to let the machine pass, but instead 
of passing, it came to a standstill. 

“ Hello, Miss Appleton,” called a cheery voice. “Go¬ 
ing to Willowlake? If so, get in and ride there.” 

It was Jerry O’Neil, not a whit sobered by the more 
or less disconcerting event of being arrested for the Devil 
Wolf, or being taken to task by Jane Wilbur, from which 
interview, Jerry had indeed emerged somewhat shame¬ 
faced, but had soon recovered his old spirits. 

“Thank you, I will,” consented Eugenia gratefully. 

290 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


291 


Jerry sprang out deferentially and assisted her into the 
front seat beside him; as he did so, he looked at her 
keenly and, merry as Jerry’s eyes were, they did not 
miss much in the way of tear-stained cheeks. 

“Something happen?” he asked sympathetically, “or, 
have you been weeping because you suddenly took the 
notion, like Maggie does?” 

“A little bit of bad news,” answered Eugenia evasively. 

“So? I thought at first our sister had perhaps been 
laying her hands a bit too heavily on the reins of Govern¬ 
ment.” He grinned, but there was nevertheless deep 
feeling in his tones. 

“Jane is dictatorial,” sighed Eugenia. 

“Yes, she is,” agreed Jerry shortly. 

For all her heart was heavy with a new sorrow, 
Eugenia could not forbear a slight smile at the curtness 
of the speech. 

“Was she very hard upon you about the petition af¬ 
fair?” she asked with a slight kindred feeling of sym¬ 
pathy. 

“Oh, not so very,” Jerry threw the matter off lightly. 
“She merely told me how low I ranked in the scale of 
humanity, and I gathered from her remarks that I was 
something less than zero in that famous schedule. She 
also related, with remarkable detail, just what happened 
to little boys who stole things. She seemed to overlook 
entirely the fact that I returned it. I had to beg pardon 
and say I was sorry. I begged her pardon, all right—but 
I am not sorry,” he added stubbornly. He turned sud- 


292 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


denly to Eugenia, “Do you think it was such a very 
wicked thing to do?” 

“Watch the curve!” begged Eugenia nervously. “Do 
try to keep all four wheels on the ground!” 

“Yes, but do you?” insisted Jerry, bringing the speed 
of the car down to something just a bit faster than a 
snail’s pace. 

^Well, I wouldn’t have Jane know it, of course, but— 
I think you did right. And, please, you can drive a little 
faster than this. I want to get to Willowlake sometime ” 

Jerry’s face had lighted up as though he had been 
granted a glimpse of holy places. 

“I knew you wouldn’t take such a bigoted view of 
things as your sister and Maggie and Miss Cartright. 
You see, it was this way. I know that Clara and her 
class are vulgar and common and uneducated, and all 
that—but it isn’t their fault. If Clara had had your sis¬ 
ter’s advantages, college, decent rearing, and the like, she 
wouldn’t care for a public dance hall, either; but it rep¬ 
resents to her the only social pleasure she can enjoy, and 
working in that box factory isn’t what you could call a 
sinecure, let me tell you. But your sister forgets they 
are human. I’ve danced with Clara and the other girls 
of her class and I don’t think I am going to—er—any 
place of torment because I did it, either. But dancing 
with them and knowing them gave me some idea of what 
those places meant to them, and when Clara came to me 
that evening—it was before I went to Sir Mortimer’s 
ball—and said that your sister’s house would be abso- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


2 93 


lutely empty (Katie’s night out), and that if I could get 
hold of that da—, excuse me, of that petition, and keep 
it hidden for a few days, it would serve to arrange mat¬ 
ters satisfactorily for them, why—I did it. I thought I 
was doing something fine and noble—and I still think I 
was—but when it was either confess to it or be arrested 
as the Devil Wolf, I found that I would rather be ar¬ 
rested as the Devil Wolf than say out in front of all 
those people what I had done—especially you. And even 
if I could have done so and cleared myself, there were 
those people down by the river and the dance halls, the 
only bright things in lives that are mostly all shadow. 
Couldn’t go back on them, you know. Besides, I relied 
a good deal on the attitude the Devil Wolf would take to 
the affair; professional jealousy would cause him to show 
that he wasn’t captured yet, by any manner of means, and 
it was just what he did do. But the dance halls are still 
open and that’s the main thing.” 

“It was really a kind and chivalrous thing to do, Mr. 
O’Neil,” Eugenia assured him warmly, “and I know those 
people must appreciate it—your being willing to be ar¬ 
rested to keep their secret.” 

“It taught me a lesson, though,” said Jerry earnestly. 
“The mere fact that people thought me capable of being 
the Devil Wolf made me look about myself, and dad— 
Well, he isn’t my father, but he has acted perhaps better 
than my own father would have done, if he had caught 
me in such a scrape. Never will forget how I felt that 
night, when I couldn’t deny I was the Devil Wolf, be- 


294 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


cause, after all, I was a thief that night, and there was 
no getting around the facts. I had been stealing; even 
if it weren’t the valuable things he stole, it was still steal¬ 
ing, although I believe I was justified. Dad and I had a 
long talk about it the other night, and—well,” Jerry 
straightened his shoulders manfully, “I’m going to work. 
You see, I have never had to work. My own father’s 
property pays me a little under a thousand a year and I 
always made it do; got to be a regular confirmed loafer. 
But that’s over with. Dad got a job for me with some 
of his friends who own a big copper mine in Montana 
and I am going.” 

“I am very glad,” said Eugenia sincerely. “Margaret 
will miss you, though.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” remarked Jerry a little gruffly. 
“She’s crazy about that Englishman and until she gets 
him—or someone else does—she won’t think much about 
little Jerry.” 

“And you will miss her,” added Eugenia quietly. 

“Yes, I guess I will.” Jerry bent over the steering 
wheel so that his face could not be seen. “It is going to 
be rather lonely out there—nothing but strangers. 
That’s the reason I thought that perhaps—if you could 
see your way clear to do it—you might consider going 
with me.” 

The last few words were spoken in a low voice, but in 
a voice that had lost its boyishness and had assumed a 
firm, manly ring. Jerry, for once in his life, was evi¬ 
dently in earnest. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


295 


Eugenia’s hands clasped and unclasped themselves in 
her lap. Jerry had laid systematic siege to her heart all 
summer long, but it had been done in a half-mischievous, 
half-serious, and wholly boyish fashion, and she had 
answered it in the same way, even in the days when she 
thought he was the Devil Wolf. But now Jerry was in 
earnest; there was not a sign of a twinkle in the black 
eyes, not a sign of a smile around his lips. 

“I am sorry,” she began half-apologetically. 

“Couldn’t you see your way clear?” he asked plead- 
ingly. 

“I am sorry,” she repeated. 

“I understand,” said Jerry, a little bitterly, “a ne’-er- 
do-well like myself—” 

“It isn’t that, really,” protested Eugenia. “It is only 
that—” 

“I forgot,” interrupted Jerry, with boyish petulance, 
“it’s that confounded Englishman. One would expect a 
silly girl like Maggie to be crazy about him, but you —” 

“You shouldn’t speak of Sir Mortimer in that way,” 
admonished Eugenia, with dignity. She saw Jerry’s 
eyes grow dark with something that looked to her like 
jealousy, and in order to avert it, said hastily, “What is 
that noise?” Indeed, she had really been wondering for 
the last five minutes what the cries and shouts meant that 
came to them from the direction of Willowlake. 

“Willowlake is celebrating the death of the Devil 
Wolf,” answered Jerry readily, but he darted at her a 
look which said very plainly that although he was in duty 


296 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


bound to answer her question, he understood why she 
asked it, and the subject was abandoned only temporarily. 
‘‘They are all but burning the town. I believe they are 
going to burn him in effigy tonight. Poor devil!” 

“It is horrible!” Eugenia's eyes flashed indignantly. 
“He is dead; why don’t they let the matter drop now?” 

“I rather fancy it is just beginning,” remarked Jerry 
wisely. “Those two Government men were at dad’s this 
morning and I surmised from something they let drop 
that the affair isn’t ended by any means. They can’t 
make out a report to the Government and say that an 
unknown man was buried under the name of the Devil 
Wolf. It won’t sound very good, you know. They are 
going to find out who he is, or was, now.” 

“How will they start about it?” asked Eugenia fear¬ 
fully. She had come from Frau Bertha’s thinking that 
the dream was over, and here was an aftermath. 

“Well, there is that handkerchief, you know, the one 
he let drop at the Mayfair affair some time ago. They 
haven’t forgotten that, although he got the handkerchief 
away from them. The big detective, Roberts, doesn’t 
think much of it, but that little man, Gray, does. He 
claims it is only through the woman who gave it to the 
Devil Wolf that they can trace him. If I had ever com¬ 
mitted a crime, I would hate to have that little fellow 
yapping at my heels.” 

Eugenia did not answer, but a cold something crept 
around her heart. If the little detective should ever sur¬ 
mise that the initials on that handkerchief were not E. H., 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


297 


but E. A.—Perhaps he had surmised it, and that was the 
meaning of the curiously defiant look he had favored 
her with that day in Frau Bertha’s house. Suppose he 
found out that she had met him often, would they be¬ 
lieve her when she said she did not know who he was? 
And now the Devil Wolf was dead and unable to come to 
her assistance with that resourcefulness that had enabled 
him for over a year, to defy the law. 

In front of her sister’s house, Jerry stopped the car 
and assisted Eugenia to alight. She extended her hand 
in a friendly way and Jerry imprisoned it in his own. 

“Couldn’t you?” he begged. “Of course, I wouldn’t 
have you do it against your will, or contrary to your 
good sense or judgment, but— couldn't you?” 

Eugenia looked at the sky, at the road, at the green 
grass under her feet—everywhere, in fact, but at Jerry. 

“I’m afraid not,” she answered in a low voice. 

“Well, then, don’t!” He flung her hand petulantly 
from him, and without another word, reentered the car 
and drove away, leaving Eugenia puzzled, sorry, and a 
bit ashamed of herself, she could scarcely understand 
why. She watched the car until it was out of sight, 
devoutly hoping the while that, if Jerry possessed a guard¬ 
ian angel, the heavenly protector would be sufficiently in¬ 
terested in his welfare to watch over him while he was 
driving at so reckless a pace. She dismissed the matter 
from her mind with a slight shrug and mounted the steps 
of the porch. 

It was almost noon when Jane returned from Willow- 


298 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


lake. Sir Mortimer had yielded to her urgent request 
that he remain for luncheon and accompanied her into 
the little reception room, of which Jane was inordinately 
proud. 

She rang for Katie and asked anxiously, “Has Miss 
Eugenia returned yet?” 

“No, ma’am/’ 

“Eugenia is not well,” she said in explanation to the 
baronet who, as usual, had flung himself wearily into the 
most comfortable chair in the room, “and she feared 
that the long ride into Willowlake and the uproar of the 
town would upset her. She decided to walk down to 
that little German widow’s house. She goes there very 
often, quite too often, I sometimes think.” 

“I was there once,” said Sir Mortimer languidly. 
“Mrs. Baumgarten is a very good woman.” 

“Oh, I have nothing to say against her, you under¬ 
stand,” protested Jane, fearful that Sir Mortimer might 
think her a bit hardened and careless of other people’s 
misfortunes, “but you will admit that a girl in Eugenia’s 
position— The woman can assuredly not be an intellec¬ 
tual equal for her.” 

“Perhaps they meet upon some other basis,” ventured 
Sir Mortimer. 

“I am sure I cannot see what the other basis can be,” 
said Jane with finality, “although Eugenia is a strange 
girl, not at all like other girls.” 

“Your sister is all that is charming,” was the gallant 
response. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


299 

Jane beamed at him as she always did when he seemed 
to fall into her schemes. “I was sure you would find her 
so,” she returned graciously. “But I do wish she would 
hurry back. It is not good for her to be out in this 
heat, although she was always fond of walking.” 

“Will Miss Eugenia return East soon?” asked Sir 
Mortimer. 

Jane threw a quick glance at him. “In a few days 
now,” she responded with emphasis. Her look said a bit 
too plainly perhaps, “You had better hurry; she will soon 
be beyond your reach.” It was well for Sir Mortimer’s 
peace of mind that he did not know what thoughts were 
passing through the lady’s mind at that particular moment. 

“Do you think she will dislike leaving Willowlake?” 

“I don’t know, I am sure, Sir Mortimer. Eugenia is 
so quiet in her way, not at all talkative about her likes and 
dislikes. Of course, she has her friends back there,” 
Jane began a minute examination of her finger nail and 
did not look at her visitor as she continued, “and some 
of them are perhaps a bit more congenial to her than any 
she has met out here. There was one she was telling 
me about, a man of the highest literary talents. I hope 
it prospers; it would be a brilliant position for my little 
sister.” 

Sir Mortimer glanced up quickly. For a moment, a 
look almost of interest lay in the weary dark eyes. “She 
would grace any position,” he said with quiet assurance. 

Jane’s face flushed with pleasure at the compliment to 
Eugenia, with greater pleasure, perhaps, than if it had 


300 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


been paid to herself, but before she could answer, the 
sound of an automobile coming up the driveway drew 
her attention. 

“It is Arthur returning,” she announced after a glance 
out of the window, “and—those two detectives are with 
him. I don’t mind the big blustering one, but that little 
man makes my blood run cold. I wonder what they 
want now. I should think their task would be completed 
now that that horrid outlaw is dead.” 

At this moment the door opened and the prosecuting 
attorney came into the room; behind him were the two 
detectives. Jane hastened forward to meet her husband, 
but at sight of his face stopped short, and said in a low 
frightened voice, “Why, Arthur—your face is so white, 
dear! What’s the matter?” 

“Jane,” Wilbur’s voice was hoarse and choked as 
though someone were gripping his throat with merciless 
fingers, “where is Eugenia?” 

“What has happened to her?” cried Jane sharply. 

“Nothing, nothing,” soothed her husband. “But 
where is she?” 

“She went out for a walk. Is—is she hurt, Arthur?” 

“Mercy, no, Jane! You mustn’t jump so at conclu¬ 
sions. It is merely that—that these gentlemen wish to 
ask her a few questions.” 

For the first time, Jane realized the presence of the 
two men standing a bit apologetically behind the prosecut¬ 
ing attorney. She turned slowly to them, then looked 
wonderingly at her husband. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


3 01 


'‘What can they possibly have to say to my sister ?” 

“Jane,” pleaded Wilbur, “you must be calm. It—it 
seems that—at least, they think—that Eugenia knows 
something about the—the Devil Wolf.” 

“The Devil Wolf? My sister?” 

“Yes. Now, Jane, do be calm. Eugenia isn’t a child, 
you know, although you always treat her as one. She is 
a woman and accountable to the law for her actions.” 

“To the law?” repeated Jane in the same dazed voice. 
“My sister?” 

“Jane, please!” begged her husband, putting a hand 
soothingly on her shoulder. 

Jane shook it off angrily. In that instant, Arthur, 
the idolized husband, meant nothing to her. She faced 
the two detectives. 

“What is this about my sister?” she asked sharply. 

Roberts shrank a little beneath her haughty gaze. He 
had a name for having captured some of the boldest law¬ 
breakers in the country, but before the piercing look in 
Jane’s eyes, his own gaze fell. He stepped aside and al¬ 
lowed Gray to take the initiative. The little detective 
answered timidly, “We merely want to know what your 
sister knows about this man, Mrs. Wilbur.” 

“What can she know? My sister is a lady, a profes¬ 
sor of philosophy in an eastern college; what can she have 
to do with the Devil Wolf?” 

“Yes,” returned Gray shyly, “and ladies, particularly 
when they are philosophers, take such queer whims some¬ 
times. We have every reason to believe that Miss Apple- 


3°2 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


ton could solve what I confess is a dark mystery to us— 
who the Devil Wolf is.” 

“But how do you connect her with him?” Jane’s foot 
tapped the floor angrily, but the little detective did not 
falter. 

“The handkerchief,” he answered quietly. “The one 
the Devil Wolf came into this very house to get. The 
initials—” 

' “Were E. H.” finished Jane icily. 

“E. A.” corrected Gray politely. “A bit uneven per¬ 
haps, but still E. A. We have finally come to that con¬ 
clusion. Ask Mr. Wilbur there.” 

“It—it could very well have been E. A., Jane,” re¬ 
marked Wilbur unwillingly. 

Jane threw a contemptuous glance at her husband, and 
then nodded at Gray. “Go on,” she commanded. 

The little detective seemed to feel none of his com¬ 
rade’s hesitancy before Jane’s uncompromising demeanor. 
For all the timidity in his eyes and in his voice, in his 
whole bearing, in fact, he would have confronted Apol- 
lyon himself with intrepid assurance. 

“The handkerchief is indeed the only thing we have to 
go on, Mrs. Wilbur, except your sister’s actions one day 
when we met her at—I believe the name is Mrs. Baum- 
garten. If we are mistaken—and I sincerely hope we 
are, for Miss Eugenia is a charming young lady—we are 
both ready to beg her pardon, but in our position as rep¬ 
resentatives of the law, we must really insist upon speak¬ 
ing to her; and,” he added with deep apology, “we must 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


303 


speak to her before you speak to her.” It was evident 
that even his slight knowledge of Jane was sufficient to 
give him a more or less clear insight into her character¬ 
istics. 

“I shall never,” returned Jane with emphasis, “permit 
you to say anything like that to my sister, without my 
first having warned her.” 

“I am sorry, Mrs. Wilbur—” 

“Now, Jane, do be reasonable—” 

Jane turned on her husband like an infuriated tigress. 
“I tell you, Arthur, I will speak to Eugenia first. They 
shall not accuse my little sister of anything like that 
until—” 

“You must not speak to her about it,” remonstrated 
her husband gravely. “It is a Government affair, Jane, 
and if Eugenia has done—” 

“If I have done what, Arthur?” asked Eugenia’s voice 
behind them. 

They turned guiltily and saw the subject of their 
heated conversation standing in the doorway, cool, fair¬ 
faced, self-possessed. She swept them all with a calm, 
impersonal glance that took in her brother-in-law s grave, 
earnest face, Jane’s angry one, the two detectives half- 
apologetic, half-serious demeanor, and Sir Mortimer’s 
white face at the other end of the room. Either the 
lassitude that always wrapped him about like a cloak, or 
his innate courtesy which would not permit him to mani¬ 
fest interest in a matter evidently never intended for his 
ears, had caused him to turn the deep armchair a little to 


304 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


one side so that he could gaze out of the window and give 
the appearance at least of paying no attention to what 
went on at the other end of the room. 

All this Eugenia saw at one glance, then she turned to 
her sister. 

“What is it, Jane,” she asked quietly,” that you want 
to speak to me about and that Arthur thinks is a Govern¬ 
ment affair?” 

The little detective opened his mouth to speak, but 
Jane, with a triumphant look, was before him. “Eu¬ 
genia, you shall not hear it from any one else than my¬ 
self, Government or no Government. They say that you 
—but I know it isn’t the truth, honey, and don’t you 
worry about it—that you have known this man they call 
the Devil Wolf.” 

Gray looked up quickly at the fair face to catch any 
faint show of emotion that would have told him what he 
wanted to know, but if he expected any sign of nervous¬ 
ness, he was disappointed. There was not even a look 
of surprise in Eugenia’s eyes as she said, answering the 
look in Gray’s eyes rather than Jane’s statement, “If you 
think that, you think correctly; I did know him.” 

“Eugenia!” exclaimed Jane in a horrified tone. 

“Miss Appleton, this is a serious matter,” said Gray 
gravely. “I had really and sincerely hoped that our suspi¬ 
cions would be unconfirmed. But since you have con¬ 
fessed this much, you will not hesitate to tell us who he 
was.” 

“I cannot tell you, for I do not know.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


305 

“You mean that you knew this man and did not know 
his name ?” 

“I never saw him without his mask; he did not volun¬ 
teer his name and I did not ask for it.” 

“When did you meet him?” 

“On the day of my arrival in Willowlake.” 

“You will not mind giving us the circumstances?” 

“Not at all,” was the prompt rejoinder. She was sur¬ 
prised to find herself feeling so calm and unconcerned 
and attributed it to the fact that her frequent intercourse 
with the Devil Wolf had lent her some of the marvelous 
daring and devil-may-care courage which was so much 
a part of him. She saw Jane’s horrified face and 
Arthur’s grave one, but at that moment she did not care. 
She did not even care that Sir Mortimer was a participant 
in the scene. 

“Through negligence on the part of the postmaster of 
Willowlake,” she explained, “my letter did not reach my 
sister in time telling her of my arrival and that I would 
wait for her at the Dover station. As she was not ex¬ 
pecting me for some time, I disliked telegraphing her to 
call at the Dover station for me and waiting there 
through two or three hours of a warm afternoon, so I 
borrowed the baggage-man’s horse and cart the bag¬ 
gage-man himself was sleeping off his intoxication in 
the shade of the station—and took the road through The 
Hills. It was the afternoon of the terrific thunderstorm 
and I took refuge under some rocks. I tied the horse 
to a tree, but she became frightened and broke loose, leav- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


306 

ing me in the predicament of being eight or nine miles 
away from Willowlake and night not very far distant. 
This gentleman of whom we were speaking—” 

“This gentleman, Miss Appleton?” 

“This gentleman,” repeated Eugenia imperturbably. 
“I have lived among gentlemen all my life, Mr. Gray, and 
you will permit me the statement that I am perfectly 
capable of distinguishing the characteristics of one. 
This gentleman, who was riding through The Hills in 
the rain, sought refuge under the same rocks that I was 
cowering under and—although I was at first afraid of 
him for the station-master at Dover had been eloquent in 
his description of the Devil Wolf—I found later that 
there was really no need to be. He saw my dilemma and 
at the risk of being apprehended drove me that night into 
Willowlake. Out of gratitude, I could do nothing else 
than keep silent about it.” 

“You never saw him after that?” asked Gray with a 
keen look. 

“No,” lied Eugenia cheerfully. 

The little detective took a new line of inquiry. “This 
handkerchief which the Devil Wolf risked his liberty to 
wrest from the Government’s possession— The initials 
were supposed to be E. H., but the H. could easily have 
been an A. improperly fashioned. It belonged to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you—give it to him?” 

“I do not give my friends pledges of that sort upon 
long acquaintance,” retorted Eugenia contemptuously. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


307 

“Certainly, I would not give it to a stranger. I must 
have dropped it and I suppose he found it." 

“Miss Appleton,” the little detective shook his head 
gravely and earnestly, “a man, even one so intrepid as 
all of us are perfectly willing to admit the Devil Wolf 
is, does not risk his liberty, nay, perhaps his life, for a 
lady’s handkerchief, unless it is the pledge of a deeper 
intimacy than that merely of having helped her out of 
a dilemma. Such a thing would only be done by a man 
who entertained for the lady a sincere regard, to say the 
least.” 

“Surely,” responded Eugenia with cool hauteur, “I am 
not to be held responsible if the gentleman did choose to 
entertain a—sincere regard for me, as you call it.” 

Gray bowed gallantly, and said with frank admiration, 
“Not at all, nor can one blame him, Miss Appleton. The 
matter merely seemed strange to me. May I venture 
another question? Why did you not make known to 
Mr. or Mrs. Wilbur your encounter with this outlaw?” 

“I have just stated,” returned Eugenia icily, “that com¬ 
mon gratitude—” 

“I see. Then you told no one?” 

“No one.” She thought fit to omit her little statement 
to Frau Bertha, for if she stated that she had told some¬ 
one, she would have to state who that someone was, and 
she had no desire to implicate the little widow. Let them 
find that out. 

At her last curt statement, Gray shook his head doubt¬ 
fully. “You see, Miss Appleton, it is this secrecy on 


3°8 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


your part that augurs so ill. Your telling of your meet¬ 
ing with this person could in no wise have harmed him, 
for you could have told us nothing that would have helped 
us to apprehend him. The mere fact that you did keep 
so trifling a matter secret, coupled with the incident of 
the handkerchief—” 

“Miss Appleton did tell someone about it. She told 
me.” 

It was the first time Sir Mortimer had spoken during 
the whole scene and the participants, in fact, had forgot¬ 
ten his presence. Now he rose, albeit languidly and ap¬ 
parently with great effort from the comfortable arm¬ 
chair. He came forward and joined the little group giv¬ 
ing Eugenia one short quick glance, which puzzled her. 
What could Sir Mortimer mean? 

“This is rather peculiar, Sir Mortimer,” said Gray sar¬ 
castically. In the last few moments the little man’s 
timidity had fallen from him and his voice was sharp, 
clear, decisive. “We have always reckoned a great deal 
on such assistance as you could give us in the capturing 
of this outlaw.” 

“And you have had that assistance,” returned Sir 
Mortimer earnestly. “I cannot remember one occasion 
where I have withheld it, although I must confess it has 
been negligible. My health, you understand—” 

“I understand, and you have my sympathy, Sir Mor¬ 
timer. But there is something else I do not understand. 
Miss Appleton has been so emphatic in her denial that 
she told anyone in Willowlake of her meeting with this 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


309 


person; why should she conceal having told it to you?” 

The answer came promptly. “Through a generous 
desire not to implicate me.” Sir Mortimer shrugged his 
shoulders. “Like yourself, Miss Appleton understands 
about my state of health and that the least excitement 
might— However, of course, I could not permit her to 
take all the blame upon herself, if there is any blame.” 

Gray looked in puzzled fashion from one to the other. 
He noticed that in Eugenia's eyes lay the same wonder 
that filled him. 

“Under what circumstances, or upon what occasion 
was it, Sir Mortimer, that Miss Appleton made you her 
confidant ?” 

“On the occasion,” answered Sir Mortimer clearly, “on 
which I requested her to do me the honor of becoming 
Lady Paige, and the occasion on which she consented!” 

The green silk parasol Eugenia still held in her hand 
clattered to the floor. It was Sir Mortimer himself who 
stooped to pick it up and as he returned it to her, he 
flashed at her again the look of a moment before, a look 
that said to let him manage the matter. 

“With the best of intentions,” said Gray curtly, “I can¬ 
not recall hearing that the engagement has been an¬ 
nounced.” 

“Because it has not yet been announced,” answered Sir 
Mortimer composedly. 

“Why not?” There was an unmistakable note of 
sharpness in the little detective’s voice; Eugenia’s cheer¬ 
ful lying—for he firmly believed she was lying, yet could 


3io 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


not prove it—and Sir Mortimer’s composure in saying 
what he knew was another lie and which likewise he 
could not prove to be one, was beginning to flick even his 
case-hardened nerves. 

At the direct question, a merry smile, a thing of sin¬ 
gular beauty, banished the weary look from Sir Morti¬ 
mer’s face for an instant. It was the first time a smile 
had been seen on his lips and even the detectives looked 
in grudging admiration. 

“That is a matter,” answered the baronet amusedly, 
“which usually rests between the two parties concerned, 
and both Miss Appleton and myself wished to keep the 
charming secret to ourselves for a few days.” 

There was a helpless silence. The baronet’s state¬ 
ment, unexpected as it was, had blocked the road upon 
which the two detectives had been galloping so rapidly. 
As for Jane, this sudden fruition of her hopes rendered 
her utterly incapable of speech and she sank dazedly into 
the nearest chair and looked from Sir Mortimer to her 
sister in bewilderment. She noticed a singular look of 
contentment in Sir Mortimer’s eyes, but in Eugenia’s 
was— 

“Then I am to understand,” asked Gray uncertainly, 
“that you took it upon yourself to advise Miss Ap¬ 
pleton—” 

“Exactly,” confirmed the other frankly and un¬ 
ashamed. “A gentleman ,” he emphasized the word 
“who had rendered a service to the lady w r ho was to be¬ 
come my wife would naturally have a claim upon my 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


3 ii 

consideration. In the circumstances, I found myself un¬ 
der peculiar obligations to him and told Eug—Miss Ap¬ 
pleton that her action in keeping silence was highly com¬ 
mendable/’ 

“I understand,” said Gray slowly, “but—” 

“The Devil Wolf,” continued Sir Mortimer in his 
quiet, assured voice, “is dead. Miss Appleton did not 
assist him in any way. She merely did not betray him. 
I cannot see where she is amenable to the law, especially 
as she can offer you no assistance in discovering the 
man’s identity.” 

“No,” said Gray, still in the same slow, musing way, 
with his eyes fixed upon the carpet, “under the circum¬ 
stances—and, as you say, the Devil Wolf is dead—” 
As he made the last emphatic statement, he raised his 
eyes for a moment and favored the baronet with a quick, 
peculiar look. “I am sure the Government will be satis¬ 
fied with our report, although it might have looked better 
had Miss Appleton, even in the face of any gratitude she 
might have felt for this outlaw, made public her meeting 
with him. We have only to make our apologies, both to 
Miss Appleton and Mrs. Wilbur, for our unpardonable 
intrusion. I trust that neither one of the ladies will 
harbor any resentment against ourselves or the Govern¬ 
ment whose representatives we are.” 

Both the ladies were pleased to assure him they did not, 
although Jane accompanied her assurance with a look that 
said, belying her words, that if ever he crossed her path 
again, it would be at his own risk. 


3 12 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Then there is nothing more for us to do except ex¬ 
tend our congratulations to both Miss Appleton and Sir 
Mortimer, especially Sir Mortimer,” the little detective 
added gallantly. 

Sir Mortimer bowed, Eugenia bowed, and Jane glared, 
as the little man left the room, followed by Roberts, who 
had discreetly left the entire matter in the hands of his 
subtler colleague. As the door closed upon them, Jane 
turned to her sister. 

“Eugenia, I never heard of anything so perverse! 
To be engaged for days and never tell me a word! And 
this Devil Wolf person— Honey, why didn’t you—” 

“Jane,” Eugenia’s voice was high-pitched and con¬ 
strained like an excited child’s, “won’t you and Arthur 
please go away? I want to speak to Sir Mortimer for 
a few minutes. I will come to you afterwards.” 

“What’s the matter, honey? Are you—” 

“Jane, please!” pleaded Eugenia. Jane started once 
more to remonstrate, but Arthur, seeing the look of utter 
misery in his sister-in-law’s face, took his wife’s arm and 
led her from the room. 

Not until the echo of their footsteps had died away on 
the stairs, did Eugenia look at Sir Mortimer. 

“I thank you,” she said with simple dignity. 

“You knew this man, Miss Appleton?” asked Sir Mor¬ 
timer softly. 

“Yes.” 

“You—pardon me, if I offend—you loved him?” 

“Yes.” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


313 


Sir Mortimer took the hand she had held out to him 
and, stooping, brushed it lightly with his lips. “I under¬ 
stand everything now,” he said gently, “and I am sorry 
he is dead.” 

There was a slight pause and then the baronet went on 
in a low voice, “Do not let the matter of our betrothal,” 
he smiled bitterly, “cause you any uneasiness, Miss Ap¬ 
pleton. I will take care of everything. It will have to 
be announced now, of course, with the marriage set at 
a very indefinite date. I wish I could have taken some 
other way, but there seemed to be no other and they 
would have made it very unpleasant for you. You will 
return to your college work, of course, and I shall remain 
here. From what knowledge I possess of such matters, 
I feel safe in assuring you that it will not be long until a 
greater hand than ours cuts the tie between us.” 

For just a moment, Eugenia forgot her own misery in 
that of Sir Mortimer’s. She had never really given 
much thought to his condition, had always looked upon 
him more or less as one who gave himself up to imaginary 
ills. She had always thought him effeminate and languid, 
but now she looked into the white, weary face, into the 
dark eyes so filled with world-pain, and found herself 
echoing his words of a moment before, “I am sorry.” 

“It would grieve me to think that it troubled you,” 
answered Sir Mortimer courteously. Then, as though 
desirous of leaving so dreary a subject as himself, he 
asked hastily, “You leave soon for the East?” 

“In ten days; although now Jane may wish me to—” 


3M 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“Leave your sister to me, Miss Appleton. I can man¬ 
age everything so that you will not be annoyed.” 

Eugenia looked at the man before her in silence. 
Weary, languid, and effeminate Sir Mortimer might be, 
but there was a certain strength about him that puzzled 
her. It had come out a few moments before in his duel 
with the little detective; it came out now in the firm tone 
in which he proposed to manage Jane. She could not 
understand, but it reassured her. 

“I shall leave everything in your hands, Sir Mortimer. 
I can only thank you for a service that—” 

“Was a mere trifle,” Sir Mortimer finished hastily. 
“A bagatelle that is not worthy of having so much made 
of it.” 

“It is kind of you to make light of your service, but,” 
she raised her clear brown eyes to the baronet’s own and 
there was a ring of sincerity in her words, “in leaving 
Willowlake, I shall carry with me the memory of the 
two most gallant gentlemen I have ever known.” 

But over in a room on the third floor of Willowlake’s 
Commercial Inn, Gray brought his fist down upon the 
table and the timid eyes blazed with anger as he said to 
his colleague, “Both of them lied to me, and, damn it, 
Roberts, we’ll never be able to prove it!” 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 


Under the moonlight, the Italian Garden was a thing of 
witchery and charm; the geometrical stiffness, under the 
benignant flood of silver light, lost its rigid lines in soft 
loveliness. 

The little sandstone figures that Jane had placed there 
in imitation of old-world gardens stood out in blank 
whiteness against dark backgrounds and made the place 
more fairy-like than before. Vines had been allowed to 
trail around some of them and sometimes nothing but the 
face peeped out between the green leaves and gave one 
an eerie feeling of being spied upon. 

Eugenia breathed a deep sigh as she entered the quiet 
garden. Under the sunlight, she could not tolerate the 
place, but the moonlight had done much to soften the 
harshness; besides, it was lonely and tonight she wanted 
loneliness. 

All the afternoon Jane had plied her with questions 
until she had been ready to scream with nervousness; 
later in the day had come Margaret Wyeth and Miss 
Cartright, and Jane, with exultation in her voice, had an¬ 
nounced the engagement, taking a ghoulish delight in 
Margaret Wyeth’s change of countenance. Later Jerry 
had come and upon the good news being detailed to him, 


3x6 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


he had glanced at Eugenia reproachfully and gone away— 
without congratulations. Jane sniffed at his want of 
courtesy but Eugenia felt grateful. Congratulations! 

Somehow, Eugenia had gone through with it, wonder¬ 
ing the while what Willowlake would say when she re¬ 
turned to college. It was so taken for granted that she 
would not return now. 

She thought of college with a deep sense of pleasure. 
It would be good to live again in the little tower room 
among her books and young students. She felt all the 
weight of her twenty-five years beside their merry youth. 
They were dull, some of them, but they were young and 
she delighted in their fresh viewpoint. 

There were two weeks still remaining of her vacation 
and she almost decided to limit them to a few days and 
return to college a week before its opening. She would 
have the lovely campus to herself—it was always beauti¬ 
ful in the fall—and she could stroll around the familiar 
places and watch the students returning for another 
year’s work. How glad she would be to get back and 
forget her summer in Willowlake! The only thing was 
that she could not forget it! Every little incident 
stood out like black letters on a white page, and she 
could no more forget any incident than she could for¬ 
get the broken, bruised figure on the marble slab at 
Cramer’s. 

She seated herself on the little stone bench in the 
shadow cast by one of the vine-covered stone figures 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


317 


and fell to dreaming of the summer that was past and 
the man who lay in the little morgue at Cramer’s. They 
were to bury him tomorrow, she had heard Arthur 
say. Some of the citizens had suggested that he be 
buried at the crossroads with a stake in his heart as a 
warning to all would-be breakers of the law, but the 
radicals had been overruled and he was to be placed in 
the potter’s field of the Protestant cemetery. Before 
she left Willowlake, Eugenia decided she would go there 
some day and plant a few flowers; they would bloom, 
but no one would ever know who had planted them. 

She saw nothing incongruous in her love for the dead 
outlaw—for she had loved him; she was glad that she 
had told Sir Mortimer so, although it was a confession 
she had always believed she could never make about any 
man. She had always been a bit scornful of the love of 
woman for man, deeming herself above that sort of 
trifling. Jane’s inordinate affection for her brisk, busi¬ 
ness-like Arthur had always wearied her; it seemed so 
senseless, so useless. But there was nothing senseless or 
useless about her love for this unknown man. Perhaps 
it was Fate’s punishment for her lofty scorn that she, 
who had refused men whose names any woman would 
have considered it an honor to wear, had fallen in love 
not only with a man hunted by the law but a man who 
had no name. 

Everything she had done this summer seemed to be in 
direct contradiction to her nature and tonight was the 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


3i8 

worst of all, for she, a professor of philosophy at Dear¬ 
born College, was waiting in the shadows of a 
moonlight-flooded garden for a dead man to return. 

He would return: he had promised her that night on 
the balcony and in his letter, and she knew he would 
come. “There is no gate of heaven so strong, no cause¬ 
way of hell so terrible, that it can keep me from return¬ 
ing to you,” he had written. She did not know how he 
would come; she only knew that she was expecting him. 

Somewhere in the grass a cricket was singing and the 
monotonous chirping finally took the sound of definite 
words: “He will come, he will come,” sang the cricket. 

The tinkling of the water in the little fountain echoed 
the cricket’s voice and murmured, “He will come, he 
will come, he will come.” 

The soft summer night wind rustled the vine leaves 
creeping around the stone figure beside her and the 
leaves breathed, “He will come, he will come, he will 
come.” 

Suddenly she realized he was there. 

Suddenly, noiselessly, he had appeared, like the dead 
who know nothing of time or distance. And he had 
come, not bruised and broken with his face crushed be¬ 
yond recognition as he lay in the little morgue at Cra¬ 
mer’s, but as she had seen him last, slender, straight, full 
of life and laughter. Booted, cloaked, masked, he stood 
a silhouette of darkness against the moonlight. 

The voice of the little cricket in the grass, the tin¬ 
kling of the waters of the tiny fountain, the rustling of 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


319 


the wind through the green leaves, all had changed from 
a confident, “He will come,” to a triumphant, “He is 
here!” and the girl who had risen and whose trembling 
fingers sought for and found the comforting, cool, stone 
fingers of the Diana beside her, had not known how 
much the death of this man had meant to her until he 
stood there. 

Eugenia did not try to analyze the matter; in that 
moment, there was nothing strange to her in the fact 
that, although one might lie on a marble slab, bruised, 
bleeding, and tom, one might still return in all one’s 
straight young strength. Death pays to us the debts that 
Life has owed us, and her reason, often a troublesome 
thing in the classroom, now brushed this phase of the 
matter aside as of no consequence. In all the incongruity, 
there stood out one only fact: he had kept his word: he 
had returned. 

The ghost of the Devil Wolf stood there, silent and 
motionless, sorrow and wistfulness in every outline of 
his figure; he seemed engulfed by the consciousness of 
the barrier that Death rears between the living and the 
dead, a pitiful consciousness that communicated itself 
to Eugenia and left her, too, immobile and voiceless. 
Not for her soul’s salvation, could she have spoken to 
this Thing. What was there to say? 

The ghost of the Devil Wolf saw her predicament, 
and being now one of the dead and having become im¬ 
bued with their wisdom, he did the right thing—he held 
out his ghostly, unlawful arms, and Eugenia, flinging 


320 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


philosophy, logic, and reason behind her, sought consola¬ 
tion in those arms, and felt them close about her; felt, 
too, the pressure of firm young lips behind the silken 
mask. 

In sudden realization of a terrible fact, her shaking 
hand crept over his arm, his shoulder, groped its way 
fearfully, touching the black mask and feeling the hard 
bone and flesh behind it— 

“You are not dead!” 

Then it was that the ghost of the Devil Wolf laughed 
—a laugh not of the next world, but decidedly of this 
one, mischievous, mirthful laughter, with the old boyish, 
exultant lilt. 

“But they shot you!” 

“My wounds are slight,” he chuckled. “They exist 
only in the Government reports.” 

“I do not understand,” said Eugenia slowly, but she 
did not question further. The arms that closed about her 
were of warm, firm flesh and blood and that was all that 
mattered. 

“If I had not found you here,” she heard him mur¬ 
mur, “if I had not found you here—” 

There was a passionate tenderness in his voice that 
brought Eugenia out of the dream-world and to the 
realization, a somewhat uncomfortable one, that she had 
given herself, wholly and irrevocably given herself, to 
a man who had no identity beyond a fearful name, a 
man who should, by all laws of man and nature, be cold 
and still in death. The mere fact that one may not 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


321 


understand a thing, does not necessarily absolve one 
from one’s duty to society. She slipped from his em¬ 
brace and retreated a step or two until she felt again 
the comforting touch of Diana’s cool slim fingers. He 
made a movement as though to pursue her but was 
stopped by her faltering voice. 

“I must know who you are. I have trusted you but— 
I must know who you are.” 

The Devil Wolf hung his head and he did not reply. 
His fingers nervously plucked off leaf after leaf of a 
rose-tree. 

‘‘It is not,” continued Eugenia gently, “that I care 
who you are. You have conquered in this as you have 
conquered in all things, and whatever your name is, or 
if you have no name, it will make no difference; at the 
same time, it is not right.” 

At the gentle reproof, the Devil Wolf shifted from 
foot to foot in conscious embarrassment. It is pleasant 
to do unlawful things when wrapped in the mantle of 
foolish, romantic unnameableness; it is not so pleasant to 
be compelled to throw that mantle off one’s shoulders. 
One loses the romance and retains only the foolishness. 

His fingers continued to pluck leaves as though in a 
desperate endeavor to strip the rose-tree bare. Already 
the little gravel path was covered with torn foliage. 

He heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose it is to be ex¬ 
pected that a woman would naturally be curious about 
what her name will be after she is married.” 

“I haven’t consented to marry you,” contradicted Eu- 


322 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


genia quickly, ‘‘nor would I do so until I knew who you 
were. It is not every name I would consent to wear.” 

He bent his head lower over the stripped rose-tree, 
and his voice was a little dull and ashamed, but under¬ 
neath the dullness and the shame was the little God-given 
trickle of laughter. 

“How would Lady Eugenia Paige do?” 

There was silence in the garden. The cricket sud¬ 
denly ceased his chirp, shocked probably into silence, and 
even the waters of the tiny fountain were hushed; only 
the wind rustled through the leaves. 

There was no longer any need for the black, fringed 
mask, so the Devil Wolf slowly removed it, and the 
moonlight played mercilessly on the face behind it. 

It was Sir Mortimer and yet not Sir Mortimer. Or, 
at least, it was a Sir Mortimer that no one in all Wil- 
lowlake knew anything about. All Willowlake knew the 
half-closed, melancholy eyes, filled with weariness and 
world-pain, but no one had ever seen them as they were 
now, laughing, but with just enough of boyish shame 
to make them seem earnest; all Willowlake knew the 
drooping lips, but no one had ever seen them as they were 
now, quivering with secret mirth; all Willowlake knew 
Sir Mortimer’s low, well-modulated voice, his unfinished 
sentences that died away in his throat, but who had ever 
heard from Sir Mortimer’s lips the pleasant voice of the 
Devil Wolf, with its secret storehouse of laughter? 
Was it possible that Sir Mortimer Paige, lazy, languid, 
thinking of nothing but his nerves and how best to spare 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


323 


them, was the Devil Wolf who had outwitted the law 
so many times and whose nerves were flexible, unbreak¬ 
able things that gave him but little trouble? 

It was impossible, yet true, and with this thought came 
the picture of the whole summer, a picture before which 
Eugenia must perforce bow a shamed head. Without a 
word, she turned and started for the house. 

“Where are you going?” he asked anxiously. 

“I want Jane,” was the answer in the small voice of 
a plaintive child. “I—I think I want my sister.” 

“It isn’t etiquette,” remarked the Devil Wolf primly, 
“to leave a gentleman three or four minutes after you 
have consented to marry him.” 

“I haven't consented to marry you.” 

“You intimated that you would if the name suited 
you.” 

“Well, it doesn’t suit!” There was an unmistakably 
indignant, one might almost have said snappish, strain in 
the usually gentle tones. “Do you think I would marry 
a liar, a cheat, an eavesdropper ?” 

“Oh, Lord!” groaned the Devil Wolf and leaned 
weakly against the fountain. He looked up anxiously 
into the angry face of the girl beside him. “And I 
thought you would regard it all with a sense of humor! 
I relied upon your viewing it with a sense of humor.” 

“My sense of humor unfortunately has not attained 
that lofty plane where it can regard tolerantly such a 
thing as this, although I do not doubt but that you have 
extracted quite a little amusement out of the affair. I 


324 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


suppose you have been laughing about it all summer.” 

“I have,” he admitted shamelessly. “It was funny. 
It is not accorded every man to have his pedigree read 
out to him in the frank, candid manner in which mine 
has been read out to me this summer.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Eugenia indignantly. Once more 
she turned to go and once more stopped after a few 
steps. 

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 

“I am dying of mortification,” he confessed with 
cheerful nonchalance. • 

“There is nothing lower,” said Eugenia with terrible 
distinctness, “than a person who will, under cover of an 
incognito, entice another person on to talk about him.” 

“I never enticed you on to talk about me,” he corrected 
mildly. “You introduced the subject yourself, and 
you gave me your opinion of myself unasked.” He 
quoted with evident enjoyment, “lazy, languid, effeminate 
and conceited! Oh, wont you beg my pardon for that 
some day!” 

“I certainly will not! It’s all true.” 

“You will be saying you are sorry before a half-hour 
is over,” he declared boldly. “As a matter of fact, you 
are ashamed of yourself right now.” 

“Certainly not!” she denied haughtily. “/ have done 
nothing reprehensible this summer.” 

“Except fall in love with an outlaw,” he finished 
sweetly. “A man with a price on his head, a criminal, 
a highway robber, a deep, dyed-in-the-wool desperado!” 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


325 


'“My conscience is not troubling me at all,” said Eu¬ 
genia loftily, “but I should think yours would be fairly 
eating you alive.” 

“My conscience and I made a pact of friendship years 
ago,” he explained whimsically. “I never trouble it and 
it never troubles me. But don't you think,” he added 
in the wheedling tone of the Devil Wolf, “that if we 
were to sit quietly on this stone bench, we could dis¬ 
cuss things much better and with more hope for a suc¬ 
cessful conclusion?” 

“It depends upon what you consider a successful con¬ 
clusion,” returned Eugenia uneasily. 

They seated themselves on the little bench and Eugenia 
made the somewhat alarming discovery that Jane, hav¬ 
ing to economize somewhere, had chosen to economize 
on the little stone benches in the Italian Garden. Even 
when each crept to the farthest end, there was but a 
very small space between. She determined to speak 
about it to Jane at the first opportunity. 

“A successful conclusion,” answered Sir Mortimer 
blandly, “would be for you to hand in your resignation 
to the faculty of Dearborn College.” 

“My idea of a successful conclusion to this affair,” 
she retorted coldly, “would be to hand you over to the 
Government.” 

“Well, why don't you?” 

“The only thing that holds me back is their lack of 
credulity. Even a policeman would be unable to con¬ 
ceive how a gentleman —” 


326 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“I am not so sure about that,” mused Sir Mortimer, 
grinning up at the moon. ‘That little detective, Gray, 
more than half suspects me now. That look he gave 
me when he took his leave this afternoon— If he could 
only get rid of that dead man at Cramer’s, he would try 
how his handcuffs look on my wrists.” 

“Who is that man at Cramer’s? I am beginning to 
believe,” she glanced askance at her companion, “that 
you did not go out on the Broken Nose that night where 
they were waiting for you.” 

“Oh, if that’s all that is troubling you!” He reached 
under the black cloak and brought out a heavy canvas 
bag which he threw into her lap. “I may not have gone 
out there—I may not be the Devil Wolf—but I got the 
money!” 

With a little gesture of horror, Eugenia threw the 
bag from her and it fell on the little gravel path in front 
of them. Neither stooped to retrieve it. 

“As to the man at Cramer’s—well, if God Almighty 
doesn’t know any better than I do who he is, I fear he 
is in rather dire straits just now. He must have wanted 
that $12,000 badly to run such risks for it. He didn’t 
have to walk into that trap; I did. Besides, he wanted 
that money for himself while I wanted it because they 
were making it a point of honor for me to come and 
get it. He might have remained hidden and escaped, 
but I suppose he grew frightened and ran. He had 
copied my disguise and they did not expect to find two 
Devil Wolves on the Broken Nose: they took the one 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


327 


in sight. It's a pity he was killed for only intentional 
robbery, while I got the money.” He chuckled boyishly 
but sobered again in a moment. “Poor devil! I tried 
to save him. You see, I knew the secret of The Hills 
and he didn’t.” 

Eugenia had only heard part of the explanation. Her 
hands were clasped around her right knee and she had 
turned thoughtful eyes toward the cool silver moon in 
the sky. There was a pucker of doubt on the white 
forehead. 

“You say that the little man suspects you?” she asked 
earnestly. “Then if we don’t carry out our betrothal— 
that is, if I don’t marry you—he might try and prove 
his suspicions, even in the face of the dead man at 
Cramer’s.” 

“I am sure of it.” 

“Then perhaps I had better marry you,” she sighed. 

“Thanks awfully, I’d appreciate it,” he murmured 
gratefully. 

“Of course,” she went on doubtfully, “I would first 
have to conquer my subtle aversion to you.” 

“Think you can do it?” he asked anxiously. 

“My philosophy would probably assist me,” she said 
comfortingly. 

“It is wonderful,” he agreed with suspicious gravity, 
“to what lofty pinnacles philosophy can help a mortal to 
rise.” 

It was Eugenia’s turn to pluck unoffending leaves from 
the vine beside her. 


328 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


“I—I really think,” she said with averted countenance, 
“that I shall not need to call in philosophy’s assistance.” 

With a triumphant little laugh, he swept her into his 
arms and Eugenia discovered, among other things, that 
the absence of a silken fringe makes all the difference in 
the world. 

The little cricket in the grass had begun chirping again, 
a facetious little chirp. “Did he come?” and the waters 
in the fountain and the rustling night wind echoed amus¬ 
edly, “Did he come?” 

Also, Eugenia decided not to speak to Jane about the 
small size of the stone benches. Really, it would spoil 
things to lengthen them. Jane did have sensible ideas 
about some things. 

After several centuries of a dream-world had passed 
over their heads, Eugenia said earnestly, as she patted her 
hair and rearranged the little scarf over her shoulders, 
“But I really think you ought to be ashamed of yourself 
for the way you have deceived Willowlake, to say abso¬ 
lutely nothing of your shameful mistreatment of me for 
which you never can atone, and for which you should be 
made to forfeit your knighthood! When I think of all 
the sympathy Jane, Margaret Wyeth, and all the other 
women have wasted on you, while they thought you were 
dying! And all the time you were running around the 
country breaking the laws. Jane would be furious if she 
knew. You are really wasting your talents, Mortimer; 
you even deceived me. I thought you were dying, or 
really not dying so much, as imagining you were. You 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


329 


used to sit there and never say a word and your eyes were 
heavy with soul-sickness—soul-sickness, fiddlesticks!— 
and your lips had that pathetic little droop— Oh, when I 
think of it! How Jane would rage!” She laughed glee¬ 
fully, then grew tender all of a sudden, “But, of course,” 
she added softly, “I am glad to find out you are not dying 
of 'something the matter with your heart/ ” 

He did not make the usual laughing reply and some¬ 
thing in his silence caused Eugenia to turn suddenly and 
look up into his face. 

"Mortimer ?” she asked in a frightened voice. 

"I am sorry, dear.” He did not look at her but there 
was a note of exquisite sympathy and love in his low 
voice. 

"Mortimer!” It was a whispered cry of pain this 
time. "Mortimer, how long?” 

"Oh, any length of time yet, dear; you mustn’t jump 
so at conclusions. Probably enough years for you to 
grow tired of me; more than enough for that, I fancy.” 
But his arms closed tightly around her. 

"How long?” she repeated fiercely. 

"Two years, three years.” He shrugged his shoulders. 
"What does it matter?” 

She clung to him sobbing and he hastened to sooth her 
with little endearing words and the gay banter of the 
Devil Wolf. 

"Eugenia, has it taken this to bring you to a full appre¬ 
ciation of my true worth? And what would the old btoic 
philosophers say to such a display of feeling? Wasn’t it 


330 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


Seneca who said, 'Help your neighbor, by all means, but 
pity him? Never.’ ” 

"Seneca never was in love,” sobbed the Stoic philoso¬ 
pher beside him. 

It was characteristic of the Devil Wolf part of Sir 
Mortimer that he should laugh at Eugenia’s remark, and 
it was characteristic of the Sir Mortimer part of him that 
he should kiss her and say gravely, "I am telling the truth, 
dear, when I say that I am unable, with any degree of 
certainty, to name the date of my demise. It may really 
be quite a number of years, although I know I told you 
this afternoon that it might come very soon. But that 
was only because I knew I could explain things tonight. 
Are you angry because I felt so sure of you, dearest? 
You must remember that you had just told me that you 
loved me, loved the Devil Wolf, I mean. You were so 
delightfully naive about it! And now I am going to tell 
you all—my shameful deception, as you call it. Your 
philosophy will teach you to understand and your love 
will teach you to be tolerant.” He leaned forward— 
"You see, the little detective was right: I did not play the 
Devil Wolf in order to rob, but robbed in order to play 
the Devil Wolf, and the thing that drove me to play the 
Devil Wolf was the Death Terror. It has followed me 
all my life. My father had escaped it and he was so glad 
to think the family curse had died out. He died before 
he knew, and I am glad of that. For a while I thought 
I would escape it, too; then the War came, and eighteen 
months in France with its privations and arduous strug- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


33i 


gles broke down the frail barrier between myself and the 
specter. I was sent home—to die. I have discovered 
me thing: it is not hard to die in battle. One is aroused, 
enthused—sometimes—and the death that stares you in 
the face is a death of flame and glory. It strikes quickly 
—a moment or two, a day or two, even a week or two of 
agony, and the curtain falls. But to walk among a happy, 
laughing throng of people with death stalking at your 
heels, not a triumphant death of flame and glory, but a 
hideous, grinning, meaningless death; not a death that 
comes to you in a high moment of excitement, but a linger¬ 
ing thing that never leaves you. You eat with it, sleep 
with it, live with it: it looks over your shoulder when you 
read and tugs at your elbow when you walk. Alone or in 
a crowd, it is there. I went from one physician to the 
other and each one talked learnedly of heredity and shook 
his head. Science was powerless. Then the War ended 
and I went to Germany, to an old, gray-haired physician 
in Berlin. His two sons had been in the War, both of 
them in a regiment which my own regiment had engaged, 
and both of them had been killed. But even knowing 
that and knowing that it might have been my hand that 
struck them down, he was the first to offer hope, or the 
ghost of a hope. He told me to come here, into the 
mountains, but warned me not to expect too much. ‘It 
may prolong your life/ he told me; ‘it will not cure you/ 
So I came here with the Death Terror grinning over my 
shoulder. I bought the old Randley place instead of one 
of the more modern houses along the Esplanade, because 


332 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


the high-ceilinged rooms, the wide staircases, and the 
endless garden gave me relief from the thing that dogged 
me and so I settled down to wait, unresistingly, passively, 
for death. The old German physician had said two or 
three years, and shrugged his shoulders over that, al¬ 
though he admitted that in the air out here, I might rea¬ 
sonably expect to extend it somewhat longer. But even 
with that, can a man enter into any plans for the future, 
when he knows there will be no future and he will be cut 
off in the midst of those plans? I had no ambition, no 
aspiration, no hope.” 

Eugenia had taken up one of his hands and was nursing 
it against her cheek; he felt the moisture of her tears 
upon his palm. 

“I thought it was all imaginary,” he heard her murmur. 

There was so much sorrow and self-reproach in her 
tone that Sir Mortimer laughed again his little exultant 
laugh. “I told you you would be sorry before a half- 
hour was over and you are,” he exclaimed delightedly. 

There was no sharp speech this time in reply to his 
light badinage and he went on. “I brooded over my lack 
of purpose in life and the thing that dogged me. I saw 
other men of my age actively engaged in business, in 
social affairs, in home matters, and cursed my fate. 
Then one day, about four months after I came here, I 
happened to find myself in the course of one of my aimless 
wanderings, in the little Creektown station. It used to be 
a watering place, I believe, and they have never eliminated 
the bad curve. The train just creeps around that curve 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


333 


on account of the embankment. I had heard vague 
things about that train; sometimes it carried money, but 
there were always guards. I watched it creep around 
the curve and the Devil Wolf was born in me while I 
watched. They say it was the bravest piece of work they 
ever saw, but I wasn’t brave; it was the Death Terror. I 
had nothing to live for; my courage was not courage— 
it was indifference. The night of the Creektown robbery, 
with $17,000 of stolen money on the table beside me, I 
slept for the first time in months. I said that that would 
be the only time I would do it—I would live upon the 
memory of it—but the next time the Death Terror 
gripped me, I surrendered myself to the Devil Wolf. 
The hours I played the Devil Wolf were the only happy 
hours I knew. In a small way, I became God, for I 
created a being out of nothing. I spent nights and days 
figuring out new things to do that would make the Devil 
Wolf alive, to make him breathe and live, and that was 
the secret of the wonderful courage and daring spirit that 
Willowlake talked about in such awed whispers. It 
wasn’t the money I wanted; it was the taking of it. I 
would have taken a rotten piece of wood, had it been 
locked up. That was the reason I had to go back to the 
ballroom to be arrested, if by any chance they should sus¬ 
pect me, and that was the reason I had to go out on the 
Broken Nose. Ranse was the only one who knew. He 
was devoted to me and I knew I could trust him. It was 
he who procured my safe-cracking tools. I forgot the 
death-sword that hung over me, forgot that my years 


334 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


were numbered in pitifully small numbers, forgot every¬ 
thing save the role of the Devil Wolf. He was to be 
everything that I was not and could not be. I felt the 
burden of death upon me; the Devil Wolf laughed at 
death. I laughed but seldom; the Devil Wolf found the 
world an amusing place. I was an actor studying a life- 
role. I made the Devil Wolf a comrade; he was friend, 
sweetheart, wife, children, everything to me. In fact, I 
was happy until the afternoon of the big storm.” 

“And what happened then, Mortimer?” was the low 
query. 

“Dear, can you imagine what torture it was to me to 
meet the only woman in the world when I was playing 
the part of someone who did not exist? At first, I 
thought, ‘Well, I can meet her as Mortimer Paige, and 
she will never know the difference.’ It never occurred 
to me that Mortimer Paige with his death-shadowed life 
might disgust you. I had always wondered what my 
punishment would be for having transgressed thus the 
laws of society and God—for had I not created a man?— 
but now I knew. I thought it was hard at first: before 
many days were past, I knew it was going to be harder. 
For, dear, you fell in love with that personality of mine 
that did not exist. You fell in love with a shadow, a 
Nobody, an ethereal thing, whose existence depended 
upon myself. Do you think a man can be jealous of a 
shadow? I was. Do you think a man can hate a thing 
infinitely less than a nebulous vapor ? Well, I did. This 
being that had been the very breath of my nostrils, the 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


335 


being I loved more than anything in the world, I grew to 
hate. I hated, loathed, despised this thing I had created. 
There was only one consolation: I could kill him. I had 
created him—had called him out of Nothing; I could 
throw him back into Nothing. I tried to. I said that 
this thing you loved should cease to exist, if such an 
ephemeral thing could be said to exist, and there would be 
a chance for me then. I found I could not, for it was only 
through him that I could reach you. It was the most 
exquisite revenge Fate could possibly have devised. To 
be dependent upon a thing I longed to kill! If society 
had hanged me a thousand times, I could not have expi¬ 
ated my fault any more than I did.” 

“Was I so apparent as that?” exclaimed Eugenia in a 
shocked tone. “Could you tell all that time that I loved 
you?” 

“Perfectly apparent, my dear,” he conceded with a grin. 
“I guessed it first in the Mayfair Bank when you said the 
Devil Wolf would come back after your handkerchief. 
I had intended to come back for it anyway, for I could not 
let you get mixed up in it. But your statement which 
should have reassured me, sickened me. It was not Mor¬ 
timer Paige who interested you, but the Devil Wolf, and 
the Devil Wolf was a myth. At Frau Bertha’s house 
that afternoon, I knew what it was she must be telling 
you and when you came out with a soft light in your eyes, 
for the Devil Wolf, not for me, I felt worse. I won¬ 
dered if you had come to any conclusions about the iden¬ 
tity of the Devil Wolf and finally—Love is such a sharp- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


336 

ener of the eyesight—I caught you looking at Jerry 
O’Neil and then I knew. Oh, I was being punished, all 
right; better than the law could have done it. Of course, 
the farce was not without its amusing side,” he grinned. 
“When you telephoned me to ask me to claim my own 
gloves, for instance. Sir Mortimer Paige delivered them 
to you but the Devil Wolf never received them back. 
How do you keep them, dear—in rose-leaves?” 

“In lavender,” admitted Eugenia weakly. 

It was the Devil Wolf, not Sir Mortimer, who laughed 
at her confession. 

“Well, all that hurt,” he said after a moment, “but it 
was the night of the fancy ball that hurt the most. After 
you left the little balcony, I felt that if I had to go down 
among the guests and talk polite nothings, I would go 
insane. I really did have a nervous attack, but it was 
not as bad as I made it out to be. Then I re-clad myself 
as the Devil Wolf, Ranse kept watch for me, and in an 
hour I was at the wall of the garden with $5,000 
from the Farmers National Bank vaults in my hands. 
You called me Mr. O’Neil that night and begged me not 
to go in and be arrested; and it was jealousy of Jerry that 
made me let him be arrested without saying a word. I 
don’t know,” he said gravely, “whether I would have been 
cad enough to let the matter go on or not, but the boy’s 
blind faith in the honesty and gentlemanly courtesy of 
the Devil Wolf drove me over to Versailles that night. 
I had given the Devil Wolf certain characteristics and 
Jerry was appealing to one of them. The detectives with 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


337 


their silly little death-trap on the Broken Nose appealed 
to another characteristic and so I had to go. I expected 
never to be able to leave it alive, so went to Frau Bertha’s 
and wrote you the letter. I expected, of course, that 
when you read it, you would know who I was and I put 
no signature to it, so as not to implicate you in any way. 
If there had been no other Devil Wolf in the Hills that 
night, you would have known who I was. I really tried 
to save the fellow; tried to reach him before they did and 
hustle him into one of the many little secret caves of The 
Hills—it is the secret of their mystery for they are noth¬ 
ing but hollow caverns—but he lost his head and took 
flight. There was nothing I could do, so still clutching 
the $12,000 I had taken from the messenger, I stumbled 
home through the darkness.” 

His voice sounded genuinely sorrowful, but the next 
instant there came the irresponsible laugh of the Devil 
Wolf. ./‘The Government is going to reimburse the Sil¬ 
ver Beetle people for the Si2,000 lost in the ravine—and 
I got away with it!” 

“What did you ever do with the money you took, Mor¬ 
timer ?” asked Eugenia after a little pause. 

“Hospitals,” was the prompt response. “It’s the best 
place for it. Maybe it will finally keep some poor devil 
from being hagridden as I have been. All but the $12,- 
000 here,” he amended and stooped to pick up the little 
canvas bag. “This goes to Frau Bertha. $12,000 is 
after all a small sum for the Government to pay a woman 
who has given it six citizens. We’ll tell her it is our 


338 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


wedding present. Nathaniel wants to be a civil engineer, 
I believe; this will help him through school.” 

And now there was silence in the garden. Only the 
cricket chirped on, but his song had become meaningless 
and the song of the fountain had become meaningless and 
the rustling of the leaves meaningless. Nothing had a 
meaning in the world, for all the world had faded away 
and the two on the stone bench were fashioning it anew. 

It was in this moment that there came to Eugenia the 
solution to the thing that had puzzled her. She was 
thinking of the wonder-philosophy of the Devil Wolf 
and the little note of sorrow and despair that she had 
caught lurking in the background of his talk. She under¬ 
stood that now. Hovering around him always, like the 
Death Terror that engulfed his other self, had been the 
consciousness that after all he was not real. He was 
nothing, a dream, a ghost, a fantasy. 

The man beside her wondered why she suddenly caught 
up his hand and pressed it against her trembling lips. 

“Mortimer,” said Eugenia tremulously, “as there are 
so few years left to us, we must make them beautiful, 
perfect.” 

“We cannot help but do so, dear,” was the quiet re¬ 
sponse, “for do we not love each other?” 

Suddenly, pure and clear through the summer air came 
the sound of bells, long, drawn-out, tolling bells that filled 
the air with solemn warning. 

“What is it?” asked Eugenia in a frightened voice. 

Sir Mortimer chuckled. “That is Rev. Parsons’ idea. 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


339 


He was afraid the lesson derived from the life—and 
death—of the Devil Wolf might be lost on the younger 
generation, so he said they ought to toll the bells for fif¬ 
teen minutes tonight at nine o’clock, as a warning to all 
young men to take example by the terrible death of the 
Devil Wolf, and to think twice before deserting the path 
of rectitude. If he only knew!” 

Eugenia turned suddenly and took the laughing face 
between her cool, soft hands. 

“Mortimer, he must die!” she pleaded. 

“I shall bury him in the grave of that poor devil down 
at Cramer’s,” he replied, but there was an odd note of re¬ 
gret in his voice. “He was a good comrade, but I shall 
bury him cheerfully, for,” he drew the two hands down 
and kissed them with all the gallantry of a bygone age, 
“I have no further need of him now.” 

From Mrs. Jane Wilbur to her sister-in-law, Miss 
Lucy Wilbur. 


Willowlake, November 3rd. 

My Dearest Lucy: 

I know you will pardon my negligence in permitting your 
letter to remain unanswered for so long a time, but, dearest, 
I have been frightfully busy. My sister, Eugenia—or Lady 
Paige now, though she laughs at the title and says it is so 
meaningless in this country—and her husband have just 
returned home from England. They went there on their 
honeymoon—a very short one, for Sir Mortimer cannot 
long remain away from this climate. Of course, having a 


340 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


newly-made bride on one’s hands is a very trying affair, 
although I am very glad Eugenia is married. 

I wrote you all about her engagement and her marriage 
followed so soon afterward that it kept me in a perfect tur¬ 
moil. I have never been able to get the rights of the matter, 
although when you try to get the rights of a matter where 
a woman philosopher is concerned, you are tackling a pretty 
difficult job. That is what Arthur says, and he is just as 
puzzled as I am. 

I was in perfect despair about Eugenia ever marrying 
Sir Mortimer, though I did so want her to do so, and worked 
so hard, Lucy, to bring it about. You can’t think, my dear, 
what a time I had getting Eugenia to like him, and although 
Eugenia has never really admitted that I am entitled to it, 
I take all the credit of it upon myself. I tell her at every 
opportunity that presents itself how much she owes to me 
and she always laughs and kisses me. Of course, I appre¬ 
ciate her feeling. She would naturally want to think that 
I had no hand in it, but that does not alter the fact that she 
practically owes her husband to me. 

What I cannot understand is, why she persisted in saying 
she disliked him so and all the while engaged to him. I 
have questioned her about it time and time again and told 
her it was certainly not consistent with her philosophical 
pretensions, but she only shrugs her shoulders and says, 
“My dear, I was a woman long before I was a philosopher,” 
and, of course, that is perfectly maddening. 

She just adores Sir Mortimer, but then they all do; by 
all, I mean the people they have congregated around them. 
My dear, it is perfectly terrible. When Sir Mortimer and 
Eugenia left for England, of course, I expected to super- 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


341 


intend the arrangement of Eugenia’s household, the hiring 
of a housekeeper and the refurnishing of the old Randley 
place, for Eugenia positively refuses to let Sir Mortimer 
buy one of the modern homes on the Esplanade, but do you 
know they will not have it touched, and insist upon its 
remaining just as it is. It’s a ghostly old place and they 
want all the old-fashioned furniture and pictures of dead 
people to remain there. So, of course, I had to let the 
refurnishing go, but I thought that at least I would be per¬ 
mitted to choose her housekeeper as I know most of the 
people of Willowlake, and upon Eugenia’s return, I told 
her of a perfect treasure of a housekeeper whom I had 
promptly hired for her. You remember Miss Grimstead, 
don’t you, Lucy? Well, I had chosen her for Eugenia’s 
housekeeper, but both she and Sir Mortimer refused my 
services in the matter and hired a little German widow, 
Mrs. Baumgarten, who came and brought her six children 
with her. I was horrified and spoke to Eugenia about it, 
only to find that she and Sir Mortimer had invited them and 
I believe they have really adopted the baby, whose name is 
Gretel, although for that matter they have practically 
adopted all six, and you would think they had come into 
some treasure or other from the fuss they make over that 
little German woman, calling her Frau Bertha and all that. 
The woman is well enough in her way and an excellent 
housekeeper but certainly is not remarkable. The one good 
point about her is that she fairly worships Sir Mortimer. I 
think it is because he is good looking. 

Well, you would think their household was about com¬ 
plete, with Aunt Clementine who cooks, Ranse, the chauf¬ 
feur, and this German woman with her six children, but, 


34 2 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


no, one day Sir Mortimer and Eugenia went out into the 
country and when they : eturned they had the ugliest 
specimen of boyhood with them I ever saw—red-haired, 
freckled, and grinning from ear to ear. His name is Bob 
Adams and he is to live with Eugenia and Sir Mortimer 
and they are to educate him. His mother, who is a widow 
and lives with her people on a farm near here, has consented 
to his remaining with them. They have practically adopted 
him, though why I don’t know, nor will either of them say. 

I certainly am unable to make out Eugenia. She seems 
possessed with a desire to adopt every child in Willowlake 
and while that is, of course, highly commendable to a cer¬ 
tain degree, at the same time one can carry it too far. I 
asked her just why she chose this particular child who is 
ignorant and has a way of saying “aint” that would be in 
itself sufficient to drive me crazy. But all Eugenia said was, 
“If his use of the word aint is all you have against him, 
Jane, Mortimer will soon cure him of that.” 

I feel, Lucy, that there is a mystery going on in that house 
which I do not understand. There seems to be a subtle 
bond between all of them that I cannot lay finger on, but 
it seems to center around the person of Sir Mortimer, which 
in itself is strange, for he is not a sociable man. Now, I 
have always liked Sir Mortimer. He is good looking, 
wealthy, cultured, a perfect gentleman, and is descended 
from an ancient family, and while I have sympathized with 
him on account of his ill health and fussed over him myself, 
I do not regard him with awe and that seems to be the 
general attitude of the people who live with him. I have 
seen that Mrs. Baumgarten look at him when he lay asleep 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


343 

on a couch and there was simply idolatry in her face, and 
that little boy, Bob Adams, is the same. 

I am sure Eugenia is not giving me her full confidence 
in the matter of her marriage and household arrangements; 
for that matter, she has never given me her full confidence. 
She was always such a peculiar child. But, Lucy, why 
should she and Sir Mortimer adopt seven children, for they 
certainly clothe and feed all seven and pay for the education 
of those old enough to be educated? Of course, all Willow- 
lake talks about them, but either Eugenia’s philosophy or 
stubbornness enables her to view it with no concern and, of 
course, Sir Mortimer aids and abets her in whatever she 
does. 

Did I tell you that Margaret Wyeth is to marry young 
Fenwick? I am so glad that girl finally caught a husband. 
She and Eugenia are great friends which shows largeness 
of mind on Eugenia’s part, for Margaret certainly did her 
best to catch Sir Mortimer. I have noticed though that 
she religiously avoids calling Eugenia Lady Paige and I 
think one secret of her great affection for Eugenia is that by 
being intimate with her, she can call her Eugenia and thus 
avoid using the title which, as I said before, Eugenia only 
laughs at and never uses herself. Philosophers are so 
funny, my dear. The title was all Margaret Wyeth wanted 
to marry him for, and it is the one thing Eugenia doesn’t 
seem to care about. 

And now I have saved my most wonderful piece of news 
for the last. Arthur is going to run for governor and, my 
dear, we owe it to the very man we hated so, the Devil 
Wolf. Arthur received a personal letter from the White 


344 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


House—just think of it, Lucy—commending him on his 
wonderful work in assisting in the capture of the outlaw 
and everybody is simply wild about him. Last week, they 
asked him to run for governor and he consented. I made 
him consent, although he was by no means reluctant, and 
there seems to be no doubt in the minds of his constituents 
that he will be elected. Soon I shall be writing you from 
the governor’s mansion, Lucy, and even Eugenia’s marriage, 
which seemed so brilliant, will appear pale beside mine. Sir 
Mortimer may be a baronet, but Arthur will be governor. 

When I told Eugenia that Arthur was asked to run for 
governor because of his work in the capture of the Devil 
Wolf, she just stared at me and her lips twitched as though 
she were trying to keep from laughing, and when I asked 
her, rather sharply as you may imagine, what was there to 
laugh at in Arthur being elected governor because of the 
perfectly wonderful work he had done in ridding Willow- 
lake of the Devil Wolf, she said hastily, as though ashamed 
of herself. “Nothing at all, dear, absolutely nothing. 
Mortimer will be delighted to hear it.” 

One of the first things I shall have Arthur do after he 
is elected is to close every dance hall. You can’t think, my 
dear, of the mortifications I have had to submit to because 
of my defeat in the matter of Willowlake’s dance halls. 
Mike O’Reilly has just been elected mayor of Willowlake, 
and he had a perfectly insulting article in his old paper 
about me. Of course, he did not mention my name, but 
everybody knew whom he meant, and I shall most assuredly 
have my revenge when Arthur is governor. Arthur has 
almost promised to pass the bill. 

I am looking forward to your visit next month and rest 


THE DEVIL WOLF 


345 


assured you shall not leave under a four weeks’ visit. It will 
be a pleasure to have you, for since Eugenia’s marriage, she 
thinks of nothing but Sir Mortimer—before her marriage, 
she used to make fun of me for thinking so much about 
Arthur—and, really, unless I go over to visit her, I see very 
little of her, for he goes out so seldom, and she refuses to 
leave him. Besides, I am relying on your sharp eyes to 
unravel the mystery in Eugenia’s house. I can make noth¬ 
ing of it, though I am sure there is one. 

Do write immediately and tell me when I can expect you. 

Your affectionate sister, 
Jane Wilbur. 


THE END 

















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